


With the Rising Sun

by Chocolatpen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Arranged Marriage, Execution, Fantasy, Forbidden Love, Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Freeform, Historical, Loyalty, M/M, Multi, Protectiveness, Rare Pairings, Royalty, Slavery, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 43,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uneasy lies the head that wears a Crown."</p><p>Oikawa Tooru is a cursed Prince in a world that is about to find out that magic still exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i // Herald

**Author's Note:**

> This is going be a Long work, with a capital L lmao. The story will be divided into 3 books, all of which will be posted here :) Books ii and iii will not be as long as Book i as the Books are more arcs of the whole story than rigidly separated plotlines. There is some free indirect discourse, but the main POV will change for each Book.
> 
> Furthermore, WTRS is more plot-focused, and the pairings will definitely take a backseat to the story itself. Please do forgive any mistakes! I don't have a beta-reader, and sometimes I'm so tired I end up overlooking some things.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this! Please do leave a comment and/or kudos if you do :)

 

The rising sun streams golden through thin white curtains; warming silken sheets and the body lying cocooned in them. Feeling the wayward rays on his skin, Tooru frowns, shifting in his sleep.

 

“Wake up, my prince,” A gentle voice floats softly through the air. It's accompanied by the sound of the door shutting quietly behind equally muted footsteps. “It is almost midday.”

 

Tooru groans lightly and curls in on himself. The tendrils of sleep are receding quickly, but Tooru isn’t quite ready to let go yet. "A while more, Suga-chan...”

 

“I didn’t want to do this today, of all days,” Suga’s voice is much nearer than it had been, steel-edged with determination yet light with mischief. “But you leave me no choice, my liege.”

 

Tooru falls off the side of the bed with a loud squawk when something loud, like a bunch of ceramic plates falling onto the ground, rings next to his ear.The prince pulls himself up from the ground with a glare at Suga, who’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over.

 

“Suga-chan is so mean to me.” Tooru sulks, crossing his arms over his sleeping robes.

 

“Oh, don’t start, you big baby.” Suga wipes away tears of mirth, placing a tiny gong onto the shelf before bringing Tooru’s wash basin over to him. The water is warm; just the way the Crown Prince likes it in the mornings - Suga has always known him well. It's been his duty to do so for most of their lives, after all.

 

Handing over a similarly heated wet towel, Suga aims a bright smile at his Prince. “Happy birthday, Tooru. May all your wishes come true.”

 

Tooru’s mouth falls open a little in surprise. He recovers a moment later and rushes over to Suga to engulf the smaller in a tight hug. “Suga-chan! You're too sweet.”

 

Suga squeaks in surprise at the sudden contact, but he somehow manages to keep the water in the small basin from splashing all over the marble floor. Tooru refuses to let go, however, until Suga relaxes into the embrace and rests a hand on Tooru’s messy brown hair. A small smile graces his soft features. “And you’re just impossible.”

 

As a member of the Sugawara House, a noble family that has served the Oikawa line for generations, Sugawara Koushi has been by Tooru’s side since they were children. The only one who Tooru has known longer is General Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

Speak of the devil, Tooru thinks as he watches Iwaizumi enter his chambers.

 

“Happy birthday, idiot prince.” Iwaizumi mutters grumpily. Already changed into his full armour, likely in preparation for the festivities that are scheduled to take place later in the day, the general's footsteps are heavier than usual and punctuated with the sound of his scabbard clanking against the metal of his suit.

  

Iwaizumi is one of the four legendary generals pledging allegiance to the crown. Having defeated an entire battalion of an opposing army with just a small squadron of men – and Oikawa’s strategy, of course – he’s widely considered the Pillar of the South and the Ace of the military.

 

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru greets happily, waving his arms in excitement. Iwaizumi might seem rather irritable, but his expression is set at a default even if he's in a good mood. Few people can discern his normal grouch from his truly bad moods. With a little bit of effort, Suga holds Tooru still so that he can properly tie the last knot in the sash holding Tooru’s robes together. “I can’t believe you remembered!”

 

“It’s not like it’s the biggest celebration of the year or anything.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, taking a seat at Tooru’s tea table. His sword – custom made, and so heavy Tooru can’t pick it up – bumps against the side of the stool with a dull thud. Suga snorts in amusement, sitting Tooru down on his bed.

 

“Iwa-chan you’re so mean to me too!” Tooru cries, lips curving in an angry pout.

 

“Keep still, your Highness,” Suga chuckles as he settles down behind the prince. He reaches for the jade comb sitting on Tooru’s vanity and starts combing through brown, layered hair. Separating the longer strands from the shorter ones, the grey-haired boy begins fashioning them into two separate braids.

 

With a little huff, Tooru ruffles the shorter strands to frame his face. If the Crown Prince were honest, Suga’s pampering soothes him like nothing else. “I don’t want you to leave, Suga-chan.”

 

The fingers in his hair falter for a second, and then Suga is smiling. “I won’t be that far from the Royal Castle, your highness.”

 

“It’s not the same and you know it!” Tooru whines, fisting the blanket pooled around his body. “You’re still young, why’d you have to go and get married?”

 

“If I were more proficient at the sword, or the spear, like my brothers – then, maybe, I wouldn’t need to,” Suga answers, a little bitterness lacing his otherwise matter-of-fact tone. “My parents arranged this marriage so that I can continue to live in the same luxury we’ve been brought up with, and I have to honour their decision, now that they’re gone. I don’t want to leave your side either, Tooru. You know that, right?”

 

Tooru just sighs. It seems his coming of age brings more misery than joy.

 

“You need to take care of yourself, Tooru, especially with that prophecy floating about.” Suga rests a warm hand on his Prince’s shoulder as he exchanges a sombre look with Iwaizumi.

 

The General nods, fingers tightening reflexively where they rest around the handle of his sword. “The whole palace has been ordered on high alert today. They’ve been told that it’s because of the party, of course, but we’ll still have to be careful.”

 

The Prophecy.

 

A handful of words that have haunted Tooru since they were uttered at the bedside of his birth; foretelling the tale of a Kingdom led to ruin, and the Four Horsemen who follow after.

 

It’s no wonder it’s kept in such secrecy – A Crown Prince who heralds great tragedy for his Kingdom is not one who’s welcome. He would have been drowned as an infant, or burned at the stake.

 

“Tooru.” Suga’s voice is warm and familiar. Tooru turns to look at him, and is greeted by one of the grey-haired boy’s large, toothy grins. “You bring joy to me and Iwaizumi-san. What some old lady has to say about you doesn’t matter.”

 

Suga sticks out his hand, pinky finger extended.

 

It’s a little tradition between them, something that’s survived their careless childhood. A promise, of sorts, or rather a reminder that they’ll always be together, even if it might not seem that way.

 

Tooru nods, wrapping his own little finger around Suga’s pinky, and allows himself to smile.

 

“We’ll be by your side.” Iwaizumi sounds uncharacteristically gentle, and Tooru sees that his almost permanent frown has smoothed out into an expression of sincerity. “So don’t worry, stupid Prince.”

 

That’s right.

 

With these two by his side, Tooru can do _anything_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. i // Opulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :D And do leave some kudos/comments if you do!

 

Tooru’s birthday celebrations are the epitome of the Oikawa line – opulence to the extreme, and then some.

 

Suga dresses him in the finest silks he owns, robes of turqoise and gold that had been ordered for the blessed occasion, lathers him in perfumes and scented oils, and decorates his person with a multitude of gold accessories that are simply a fraction of his ever-growing collection.

 

His father sneers at him from his pedastal, wrinkles framing his weathered face. Somehow, his sharp, brown eyes – Tooru’s have his father’s colour, and his mothers’ shape – retain the fire of his youth; an anger that just never seems to burn out.

 

“Lord father.” Tooru says, head bowed in greeting. His father, his _King_ – Oikawa Teiji is the only person Tooru has ever needed to submit to.

 

Behind him, and slightly to the left, Suga falls gracefully onto knees and kowtows, fingers in a point before a head of grey. It’s the appropriate greeting of a noble; even if they’re as powerful as the Sugawara Clan. Iwaizumi would be on one knee, a palm splayed over his heart and the other a fist on the ground, if he were here.

 

The King’s personal guard – Sugawara Kouichi, Suga’s eldest brother – shifts slightly at the King’s side. There has always been something hard in his eyes, something Suga’s almond gaze has never possessed. Tooru believes it’s because Kouichi is the firstborn, with the most responsibility.

 

“You’re of age now, Tooru,” Teiji booms. The air of power and command surrounding him has never dimminished, not even a little, over the many years he’s ruled as King. “Don’t disappoint me.”

 

“Yes, father.” Tooru bows, again, and then he’s dismissed.

 

Suga breathes out a sigh of relief as they exit the Royal Chambers and head back to the party. “That was _overwhelming_.”

 

“And he never really has anything else to say, either,” Tooru sighs, drooping into his friend. The many ornaments in his hair jangle against each other with the sudden movement.

 

“My prince!” Suga gasps, and pulls him back upright. Immediately, he begins patting Tooru’s hair back in place, and then smoothing out any wrinkles that appeared in his robes. “You need to look and behave your best today. Everyone is here for you!”

 

Tooru rolls his eyes, but otherwise regains the air of superiority and elegance he employs at these sort of functions. “Alright, don’t fret, _mother_.”

 

Suga goes red at the remark, and Tooru laughs in response. Reaching over to his attendant, the Prince tidies the simple golden chains resting around the grey-haired boy’s head.

 

“Crown prince Oikawa.” A little cough accompanies the greeting, in an arrogant way Tooru has never been able to stand.

 

“Brother!” Suga perks up in surprise. Tooru turns away from his attendant to greet the second Sugawara child – Sugawara Kousuke, a high-ranking palace guard in line for a promotion to commander. “Kousuke.”

 

Suga has always been the least athletic amongst his brothers, and it shows. While the youngest is shorter than Tooru, Kousuke is the same height and _bigger_. “If you don’t mind, your Highness, I’d like to borrow my brother for awhile.”

 

Somehow, Tooru has always had the feeling that Suga’s brothers have never really liked him.

 

“Of course.” Tooru nods, as regally as would be expected of him. Iwaizumi calls him two-faced, but Tooru likes to think of it as putting on the right mask at the right time.

 

Suga shoots a worried glance at the taller brunette, before bowing his head. “I’ll be back soon, my Prince.”

 

Tooru nods, and then turns to make his way towards the dessert table. His father has never approved of his fondness of milk bread – something one of the servants had shared with him, when he was young – since it’s commoners’ food, so he doubts there is any here, but there’s nothing much else to do while he waits for Suga to return, anyway, so he might as well go check.

 

“My Prince.”

 

Or not.

 

Tooru swallows the annoyance bubbling in his throat and wipes away the unpleasant expression he _knows_ is colouring his features, before turning around with a courteous smile. “My Lord cousin. It’s good to see that you’re well.”

 

“As are you, Tooru,” Ushijima Wakatoshi says, expression still locked in a deadpan. He towers over Tooru, who’s already quite tall for his age, and has arms as thick as logs. Dark green hair – from his father’s side of the family, not Tooru’s – is cut short all around, save for the single braid running from beneath his fringe. It rests against his cheek, brushing against his ear when he moves. “I was disappointed when you chose not to grace our latest battlefield. Strategies work better if the strategist who came up with them is present, after all.”

 

“The war front is not somewhere I want to be.” Tooru says, tilting his chin upwards defiantly. He holds the percing olive gaze for a few more seconds, before allowing a condescending smile to pull at his lips. Lifting his silken-clad arms in a shrug, Tooru gives a little twirl. “I am the Crown Prince. My place is here, where the wine is good and women are beautiful. Now, dearest cousin, you’ve rather unfortunately interrupted my quest to the dessert table. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

Before Tooru can take a breath of relief, a large hand curls around his bicep. The sudden stop makes the ornaments in his hair chime and a chill shoot down his spine. “Tooru-”

 

“My Prince!” Suga bustles over with a plate of fruit. There is a smile on his face, but it’s slightly strained. “Ushijima-sama!”

 

Ushijima instantly lets go, and Suga links his arm around where the crushing grip had been. His soothing warmth calms Tooru down, and, with another polite greeting to Ushijima, Suga is leading them away with mindless chatter about the state of the musicians at Tooru’s party.

 

“You alright, your Highness?” Suga whispers, once they’re surrounded by mingling nobles. His expression remains the same, happy mask, even though his tone is anything but. “I knew they shouldn’t have assigned Iwaizumi-san so far away. I even told Kouichi-nii about it, but he said the allocations were final.”

 

“I’m fine, Suga-chan. Thanks.” Tooru sags lightly against Suga’s body. The movement is unnoticeable to anyone else, since their flowing robes leave much to the imagination.

 

Suga has always managed high society better than he has. The fact that Tooru’s merits are those of military strategy won’t change, no matter how much Tooru likes to say his place is not on a battlefield.

 

“There isn’t any milk bread here, huh.” Suga mentions, as he manouvers them to a more secluded corner. Tooru doesn’t understand where that sunny smile comes from, not while they’re stifled and judged by an endless amount of social restriction, but he’s still infinitely grateful for it.

 

“Yeah. It sucks.” Tooru pouts, overdramatically, as he plucks a grape from its vine and tosses it into his mouth.

 

There is a short pause where the two friends look at each other, before they’re bursting into breathless laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. i // Incense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cracks knuckles* lez do this.
> 
> Enjoy! And do leave kudos/comments if you do :)

 

The time between night and day, when the sky is still dark but the sun is a spark along the horizon – that’s when Tooru’s mother, the Queen, had perished in childbirth.

 

It is rumoured that the King had to split her cooling body open using his sword, just to retrieve a similarly dying baby from her womb.

 

Tooru had first cried at daybreak.

 

The smell of incense still clinging onto his extravagant robes, the Prince makes his way back from the Queen’s shrine. He makes sure to visit on his birthday, every year, as a sign of respect for the mother he never knew. Fingers seeking out the small birthmark on his inner forearm, Tooru sighs. Somehow, it had become a secret – not because Tooru believed his friends would laugh at him, no, but because it’s somehow more intimate this way. Somehow.

 

Tooru is nearing the King’s wing of the palace – and it should be alight with flames, especially on nights with so many guests still lingering in the palace – but there doesn’t seem to be a single soul about. Peering through red archway after red archway, Tooru’s frown deepens. There are no guards on standby at all.

 

He’s never seen the palace this dark.

 

“-nowhere to be found.”

 

Tooru ducks below one of the large stone foundations when footsteps draw near. There are two of them, soldiers or palace guards, judging from their heavyset footwear.

 

“Expand the search. It’ll ruin our plans if he gets away.” Tooru startles – that’s Sugawara Kouichi, the eldest Sugawara son and the King’s personal guard. “And what of my brother?”

 

“We haven’t found him either, sir. He should be waiting on the Prince, but with him gone from his chambers, we have no idea where your brother could be.” The second soldier reports. Tooru’s eyes widen. They’re looking for him and Suga? But why?

 

Kouichi makes a small, disgusted noise, before they’re walking out of Tooru’s range and everything falls silent again.

 

Tooru’s heart is beating so fast and so hard that he can feel it pounding in his head. What is _happening_?

 

Taking a deep breath, the Prince gathers his courage before jogging up to the King’s chambers. He makes sure to stay in the shadows as much as he can, but it doesn’t seem necessary, since the entire wing looks deserted.

 

The King’s chambers, in contrast to his wing, are brightly lit. The blinds are closed halfway, and Tooru can only make out vague shapes inside. Lightly cursing his clattering hair accessories, Tooru plucks the pair of large, golden hair pins from his brown locks – their large stems are almost the length across his palm to his index finger, and blunt at the tip.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy.” Tooru freezes when he hears his father’s voice booming from inside the Royal chambers. The King has always remained distant and professional, and it’s Oikawa’s first time hearing him so angry. “This is not all fun and games. You’ll throw the Empire into chaos.”

 

“I have no time for an old power with no more sway.” Tooru stifles a gasp, and takes a step away from where he’s eavesdropping. That’s- _Ushijima_? “I’ll do a much better job than your son ever could. Tooru’s place will be by my side. His rightful place.”

 

Indignation swells up in Tooru’s gut. How dare Ushijima treat his King with such disrespect? How dare he undermine Tooru like that!

 

Tooru lashes out immediately when hands grab at his shoulders from behind. He changes his grip on his pair of hairpins, dodging a punch before stabbing the two guards in the neck, right at their accupuncture points. They’ll survive – Tooru never hits too hard.

 

The Prince is settling back into a defensive position, facing a newly-arrived squadron of guards, when a loud, squelching noise reaches his ears. _No_. Tooru’s heart plummets to his stomach as he turns and pushes through the double doors leading to the King’s chambers violently.

 

“Tooru.” Ushijima’s saying, but the glint of his sword – red, so _red_ – is the only thing Tooru can truly see. His throat suddenly parched, and his eyes still glued to his father’s body, the Crown Prince falls onto his knees in shock.

 

Raising an eyebrow at being ignored, Ushijima turns his nonchalant olive gaze back to the King and unceremoniously slides his sword out from where it’s impaling Tooru’s father. “As you can see, I have killed your father due to his incompetencies as King. We would much rather you not have found out this way, but there is no helping it since you’re-”

 

Already well past truly caring about his own well-being, Tooru grips his hairpins in white-knuckled fury before charging straight at Ushijima. “You treasonous bastard!”

 

The Prince manages to cut the taller man across the cheek with a well-aimed swipe, the latter having been caught off guard. Blood sprays through the air, splattering across Tooru’s cheek. Ushijima’s eyes narrow dangerously as he lifts his sword again, blood dripping off its tip.

 

“Ushijima-sama! Are you alright?” A squad of guards jogs into the room, surrounding Tooru and Ushijima. They fail to spare even a glance at the corpse of ther King, laid out on the floor with his eyes still open, nor their blood-splattered Crown Prince. “I apologise for our tardiness.”

 

“Insolent-!” Tooru’s jaw drops open, and his hands begin to shake. He doesn’t know why – he can’t even differentiate between anger and fear anymore. “Why aren’t you arresting him? He killed the King! It’s high treason!”

 

The guards avoid Tooru’s gaze as the grips on their weapons falter. In contrast, Ushijima steps forward, seeking Tooru’s condemning brown gaze and raising his sword threateningly.

 

“I wanted to do this peacefully, Tooru, but it seems it won’t work out that way.” Ushijima’s tone is the same, arrogant, matter-of-fact tone that Tooru has utterly despised since his childhood. “With King Teiji dead, you’re now next in line for the throne. Which means that you are, effectively, the only thing standing between me and a legitimate claim to the Crown.”

 

“And you want me to give it all up to you?” Tooru asks incredulously. He is aware that Ushijima is ambitious, and more so than Tooru himself, but to go this far?

 

The glint in Ushijima’s eyes is more than enough to give Tooru the answer he needs, and it utterly disgusts him.

 

Tooru’s golden hairpins – the only weapons he’d had – are on the ground; deformed and speckled with blood. Tipping his head backwards as the tip of Ushijima’s sword breaks the skin at his neck, Tooru smirks. “ _Over my dead body_.”

 

His voice is strong; much stronger than he expected, and it comes out in a snarl that has Ushijima taking a step back. Tooru is defenseless, and surrounded by the enemy, so there’s no way he’ll be able to get out of there alive, anyway. There’s no point in surrendering his pride as well.

 

Angered by Tooru’s blatant disregard of him, Ushijima’s features contort in a rare show of emotion. “As you wish… _Your Highness_.”

 

Tooru closes his eyes when Ushijima raises his sword above his head. It’s waiting for the blow that is the hardest. Just a while more, and everything will be-

 

“My Prince!”

 

Tooru’s eyes snap open when when the clash of metal against metal echoes into the night.

 

Ushijima’s eyes are narrowed, his brow furrowed, as he struggles to keep his sword from flying out of his grip. Directly in front of Tooru, large sword in one hand, with the other protectively pushing his Prince back, is-

 

“Iwa-chan!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. i // Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited the plot so much the past few days.... iwaoisuga is gr8.
> 
> Enjoy :) And do leave some kudos/comments if you do!

 

Tooru feels detached from his body – from reality.

 

He watches without emotion as Iwaizumi slashes Ushijima across the chest. His cousin’s blood splatters everywhere as he falls to the ground, landing heavily next to the King’s corpse. There’s a soft voice in his head that says _Ushijima deserves it, for the sin of his selfish ambition_ , but he can’t summon any more emotion to back it up. Not sadness, and not even rage.

 

Iwaizumi disposes of the rest of the guards with two powerful swings of his large sword. They all fall in a pile of bloodied bodies, but then Iwaizumi’s hand is circling around Tooru’s wrist and pulling him into a jog, and he can’t see them leaking crimson into his father’s carpet.

 

“After them!”

 

That’s Ushijima’s voice. He’s standing in the doorway, clutching at his bleeding chest, but the expression that is painted on his features – the expression that has him contorted and disfigured – is not of pain, but of fury.

 

_“Expand the search. It’ll ruin our plans if he gets away.”_ The words resurface somewhere in the depths of Tooru’s mind. Kouichi has been King Teiji’s most trusted personal guard for years, now, and yet... and yet Kouichi is working together with Ushijima in a bid to overthrow the Crown?

 

“Idiot Prince, do you even know what’s happening?” Iwaizumi chastises, gruffly, as he leads them down shadowed corridors and turns corners Tooru hadn’t even known existed. The servants’ routes, most likely.

 

To be perfectly honest, Tooru doesn’t _want_ to know. He wants to fall asleep and stay that way, until he can wake up back in his chambers, safe, with everything returned to the way it had been.

 

But Tooru is too smart to stay ignorant. His father is dead, betrayed by the very people who’d sworn to protect him. The Kingdom will be thrown headfirst into the chaos of a country without a leader, or even split into a bloodbath of a civil war. If he’d just been faster, if he’d been better, if that godforsaken prophecy hadn’t existed, then-

 

“Oi, Tooru!” Iwaizumi growls, right in his face, and somehow, the fog in Tooru’s mind clears at the sight of his friend’s narrowed green eyes.

 

“Where’s Suga-chan? We have to- Iwa-chan, you’re hurt!” Tooru gasps as he spots the blooming crimson stains on the General’s armour. It’s not often he sees Iwaizumi hurt, not when he’s as good of a fighter as he is.

 

“Welcome back, stupid Prince.” Iwaizumi huffs, brushing off Tooru’s hands from where they’re fluttering over the wounds. His worried gaze lingers on Tooru for a second longer than normal, before he’s starting up a jog again. “Don’t worry, I got Suga before I found you. He’s waiting for us. And I’m fine, just had a little bit of trouble getting back into the Palace.”

 

Tooru bites his bottom lip as he follows after, feeling tears gathering in his eyes. Iwaizumi had only been hurt because of _him_. “Iwa-chan…”

 

“What, you’re not going to fall over, are you?” Iwaizumi turns back to look at Tooru, pace faltering slightly. “Just hang on for awhile longer, you useless Prince. We’ll be out of here soon.”

 

“Unfortunately for you, that’s not going to be possible.”

 

Iwaizumi and Tooru halt in their tracks as a figure walks out of the shadows to stand in direct opposition to Iwaizumi, sword drawn and at the ready. Tooru recognizes the palace guard at once.

 

“Kousuke! You’re part of it too?” Tooru demands, as Iwaizumi falls into a defensive stance. The Sugawara Family is one that has served the Oikawa’s loyally for _generations_. The betrayal of not one, but two of them – including the current head – is thoroughly unexpected.

 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Kousuke smirks. With no other confirmation needed, Iwaizumi immediately attacks. Kousuke barely manages to block the swing, skidding back a few feet just from the force of it. When he looks back up again, his smirk is gone, a heated glare in its place. “You’re going to die tonight, Iwaizumi.”

 

Kousuke may lack the strength Iwaizumi has, but he’s _fast_. Even Iwaizumi has more trouble parrying the onslaught of blows than he does usually, dragged down by both his wounds and the need to protect Tooru.

 

“I don’t want to kill you, Kousuke.” Iwaizumi grits out, squaring his jaw, when he finally lands a hit. “Don’t do this.”

 

“Don’t underestimate me!” Kousuke growls, but his now wild and derranged swings are almost effortlessly matched by the General.

 

“Please, we just want to leave in peace,” Tooru agrees from behind Iwaizumi, his hands fisting the flowing turqoise material of his robes that is, by now, soiled with blood. “You’re Suga’s brother. We don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I never understood why my brother loved serving under a good-for-nothing Prince.” Kousuke hisses, taking advantage of Iwaizumi’s divided attention to duck past him and dash straight towards Tooru. “Ushijima wanted you alive, but… I guess _accidents_ can’t be helped.”

 

Tooru takes a step back the same time Iwaizumi spins around, and the General’s sword buries itself in Kousuke’s side just as the palace guard manages to slice Tooru’s arm open.

 

“No…” Tooru draws away, cradling his arm to his chest. His eyes are wide in horror as he watches Kousuke fall the ground. His arm hurts. Of course it does. But the pain of the injury is a mere throb in the background, in comparison to the absolute terror of seeing someone’s very life leak out of them.

 

Iwaizumi straightens up, his brows pulled together in a deep frown. The General never wanted to kill Kousuke, but he understands the need to do so more than Tooru ever has – another reason why the Prince has never seen a true battlefield, outside of his theories and strategems.

 

“Your order, my Prince?” Iwaizumi asks. Any other time, and Tooru would have laughed. Iwaizumi calls him two-faced, but he’s the same; switching between the roles of best friend and Prince’s guard so easily.

 

Tooru feels tears roll down his cheeks when he sees Kousuke gurgle, spitting out bright red blood. He closes his eyes for few seconds to calm his pounding heart. Kousuke looks _so much_ like Suga.

 

When Tooru opens them again, his decision is already made.

 

“Kill him.” Tooru clenches his jaw, trying not to hate himself for saying it. “That’s an order, Hajime.”

 

Iwaizumi beheads Kousuke in one fluid motion, well-practiced from his time at war, and his tortured gurgles finally come to a stop. Tooru tries not to regurgitate the measly contents of his stomach as his friend leads them away. He doesn’t argue, though, because he knows the General will kill anyone who gets in their way.

 

Tooru shouldn’t be so affected, especially since these are all people who’ve betrayed him and his family line, but he can’t help it. They’re all still people, too.

 

Iwaizumi leads them out of one of the servants’ exits; a little hole in the wall leading to a nearby forest. Emerging on the other side, Tooru outright flinches when a shadow moves towards them.

 

“Tooru! Hajime! What's going on? You’re covered in blood!” Suga’s features look even softer in the flickering light of a nearby torch, but Tooru can’t help but project Kousuke’s sharp features on him – eyes of the same shade, and hair of the same colour. He _heaves_ , and Suga steps forward in concern, but Iwaizumi blocks his way.

 

“Koushi, what’s in your sleeve?” Iwaizumi’s voice is purely _General_ , and his sword is still out. Tooru stares over his guard’s shoulder at Suga, whose arms are linked in the front, buried in his long sleeves. A knife? A dagger? No- _No_ , it can’t be, Suga _couldn’t_ have betrayed them either. His family seems to have sided with Ushijima, so it isn’t impossible, but-

 

“I uh- got this for Tooru, for his birthday,” Suga smiles weakly, any genuine emotion clouded with confusion. He pulls his arm away from his sleeve and unwraps a bundle to show its contents to both Iwaizumi and Tooru.

 

Milk bread.

 

Iwaizumi’s entire frame deflates from its tense form the same time Tooru rushes forward to embrace Suga, sobs now freely leaving his mouth. He’s a terrible person for suspecting Suga in that way, for thinking that Suga would betray him, only to be proven wrong by such a considerate act – Tooru had lamented endlessly about there not being even a loaf of his favourite snack at his birthday party, but he never thought that Suga would do something about it.

 

“I-I’m so s-sorry, Suga-chan,” Tooru cries into Suga’s warmth. Suga is one of his best friends, sticking by him all these years, and yet, Tooru had repaid that kindness and love with distrust and- and _killing his brother_ , oh God. “I’m so s-so sorry, Suga-chan, please. I-”

 

“Calm down, Tooru,” Suga is frowning, his little eyebrows pulled together. He looks from Tooru to Iwaizumi. “What’s happening? You stop me from going back to Tooru’s chambers and tell me to wait out here, only for the two of you to appear with _blood_ everywhere- Tooru, are you alright?”

 

“I’m,” Tooru utters, his vision blurring. It’s fading to black, around the edges, and he can only seem to cling to Suga to stay upright. “Fine, I’m fine.”

 

The last thing Tooru feels is his head meeting the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. i // Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of my papers right now, so updates might take awhile :( I was only supposed to start on long fics after November, but here we are ^^
> 
> Enjoy :) And do leave some kudos/comments if you do!

 

Tooru wakes up to the sound of birds chirping, and the warmth of the sun on his legs. Staring up at the tattered, straw ceiling dully, the Prince allows the memories of his disastrous birthday to wash over him. His heart clenches painfully in his chest – the sting of all his failures still fresh.

 

Iwaizumi must have been able to lead them all out of the forest safely, since Tooru is neither dead nor chained to a corner. Pulling himself upright, the Prince rubs at one of his eyes sleepily. An unfamiliar, rough material rubs harshly against his skin, and he looks down to see that he’s been changed into plain, brown-coloured threadbare clothing. Hobbling out of bed, the Prince notes that his entire body feels stiff and sore. Even his head is buzzing slightly.

 

Fainting at the end of it all had really been the cherry on top of the cake.

 

A low moan punctures cleanly through Tooru’s thoughts, and the Prince startles at the sudden noise in the peaceful atmosphere. His brow furrows. The sound is soft and deep, but it somehow sounds familiar.

 

Still wobbly in the legs, the Prince crawls over to the thin partitoning beside his measly cotton-and-straw bedding and slides it to the side. It’s almost the exact replica of his own little room, just that the dark-haired male only has a blanket and a pillow.

 

“Iwa-chan!” The relief that courses through Tooru’s veins at the sight of his old friend vanishes the second he sees the General’s sickly pale complexion. When he moves to wipe at the cold sweat dotting Iwaizumi’s brow, Tooru flinches back, as if he’d been scalded by the dark-haired boy’s high temperature. “What _happened_ to you?”

 

“…he’s awake.” A deep voice says, from outside. Two shadows move on the other side of the screen; one slightly taller than the other. Tooru recognizes the shorter one’s cowlick immediately.

 

“I’d better go explain everything to him, then.” Suga replies, with a short bow. He’s talking to a… merchant? Someone of the upper-middle class, surely. Upper class Nobles like Suga don’t bow to anyone lower on the ladder. “Again, I thank you so much for everything.”

 

“There’s no need for that!” The taller man’s arm goes to his head, almost sheepishly. He bows lowly at Suga, before walking away. “I’ll leave you to it.”

 

Tooru envelopes Suga in a crushing hug the moment the screen door slides open, the sudden force almost pushing Suga off-balance. He crushes the overbearing guilt that takes a hold of his emotions for a terrifying second and reigns in himself – he can’t afford to break down again.

 

“Tooru!” Suga gasps, his arms flying to stabilize them.

 

“Suga-chan! What’s happening? Where are we?” The Prince demands, pulling away from Suga only to hold him at arms’ length and shake him by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”

 

“Calm down, calm down.” Suga half-chastises, motioning for Tooru to sit. He’s trying to look stern, but it’s obvious he’s happy that Tooru is awake. Pulling a crudely made tea set into the room, the grey-haired boy gracefully pours some piping tea into two little cups before offering the drink to Tooru. His parched throat now brought to the forefront of his mind, the Prince gulps the drink down and slides the cup back to Suga for more. “You fainted from exhaustion – probably from all the mental stress you went under in such a short period of time. You’ve been sleeping for two days, now, my Prince.”

 

The Prince blinks, shock bringing his mind to a standstill. _Two days_?

 

“Hajime carried you on his back, as far into the woods as we could, before a lucky squadron of palace guards managed to find us. By then, he’d informed me of Ushijima’s betrayal.” Suga’s eyebrows are furrowed at the mere thought of it. Tooru’s hands clench around his tea cup. Suga doesn’t know – he doesn’t know, yet, that Tooru killed his brother. “I carried you away from the fighting. Hajime was victorious, of course, but he’d been shot with a poisoned arrow.”

 

The Prince’s eyes widen at this piece of news, glancing, in horror, at his childhood friend. Iwaizumi’s eyebrows are knitted together in his fitful sleep. Looking away again when his heart clenches painfully, Tooru grimaces into his tea.

 

Everyone around Tooru is getting hurt, and it’s all because of _him_.

 

“We made it up the mountainside before he collapsed as well.” Suga sighs deeply, taking a sip of his tea. “I tried supporting each of you, over a short distance, before going back for the other, but years of Court training haven’t really contributed in developing my muscles.”

  
Suga flexes an arm and winks, a shadow of his normally mischievious self, and a chuckle actually squeezes itself out of Tooru’s dry throat. It’s not something to laugh about, definitely. Their entire situation is dire. But somewhow, even that tiny bit of humour, of effort on Suga’s part to lift his spirits, helps to cast light on a hopeless circumstance.

 

The Prince’s lips tip upwards at the sides, and Suga reaches over to cover Tooru’s hand in his.

 

“Now, let’s stop talking about such terrible things.” Suga’s solemn expression softens into a smile. “I want to introduce you to the… man who saved us. This is his house, actually.”

 

Tooru’s eyebrows rise. “He carried both Iwa-chan and I?”

 

Suga nods, and Tooru has known him for so long that he knows, just from his expression, that his grey-haired attendant is keeping something from him. _There’s more to this than meets the eye._

 

Pulling Tooru up on his feet and sliding the door back open again, Suga leads him away from the quaint straw-and-wood housing. “He’d been gathering firewood when he saw us, so I helped him with what he collected while he carried both of you up here. He pretty much slung either one of you on each of his shoulders.”

 

“Huh.” Tooru says, tilting his head to the side. Suga’s answering smile tells him _later_.

 

The house is sat in the middle of a rather large clearing, and Suga is leading them towards the limits of it. There’s a small shed, half-concealed by the barrier of trees, where there are stacks of wood and a large cooking wok. Something like a makeshift kitchen.

 

“Sawamura-san!” Suga calls, sweetly, and a man perks up from where he’d been squatting on the floor; looking over the many baskets of herbs.

 

The unfamiliar man is of similar build to Iwaizumi – big, and steady like a rock, but not too tall. He’s tanned, his black hair cropped short and neat, and his brown eyes are big and kind. Nothing about him stands out – and Tooru would have close to no chance of picking him out of a crowd otherwise – save for the large scar running up the side of his face. It’s puckered and ugly from not being taken care of properly, but it’s old, and the skin growing over it is hard and thick. He would otherwise have been a handsome man, conventionally speaking.

 

“Tooru, this is Sawamura Daichi.” Suga introduces, as the dark-haired man draws closer. “He’s been such a gracious host these few days! Daichi, this is-”

 

“Prince Oikawa Tooru.” Daichi finishes, with a small smile and a quirked eyebrow. He bows lowly as a sign of respect; still stiff-backed, holding himself well. Tooru quite likes him already – this Sawamura-san isn’t one of the easily corruptible officials in his father’s court. “I’m not sure how to treat royalty, so…”

 

“Just Oikawa is fine,” Tooru replies with a genuine smile of his own. The straightforward ways of commoners are a refreshing take on human interaction, especially when used to the verbal sparring of the King’s court. “I’m not particularly keen on having my position known, so please do avoid all the frivolous titles.”

 

“Of course, Oikawa. Just Sawamura is fine, as well.” Daichi replies, sounding a little bit taken aback. As if suddenly remembering something, Daichi glances back towards the piles of herbs before making eye contact with Suga.

 

“Tooru, I’m afraid we have bad news.” Tooru turns to Suga – it seems his grey-haired friend has become somewhat accustomed to this commoner-man over the past few days. The Prince would have teased Suga about it, had it not been for the serious, frankly worrying look painted across his features. “I’ve tried everything I could find in these woods, but none of the herbs work on Hajime.”

 

Tooru’s heart plummets at the words, his eyes widening and his hand flying to cover his trembling mouth. The mere thought of losing his oldest friend – it’s utterly terrifying. “Then- what-”

 

“Do you have any gold left on you?” Daichi intercepts, folding his arms across his chest. He blanches at the scandalized look colouring the Prince’s features, and holds his hands up placatingly. “I’m not trying to- Look, I don’t have any money, since I get everything I need here. Suga knows what herbs he needs to cure Iwaizumi-san, but they don’t grow on this mountain. You’ll have to get it from the market down the hill, and they’ll cost you quite abit.”

 

Suga bites his lip, and wraps a comforting hand around Tooru’s arm. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Tooru. I’ll go and sell our clothing. Even ripped, silk should fetch a pretty hefty price.”

 

Tooru almost flinches when he remembers the disfigured, bloodied golden hairpins he’d left in the King’s chambers, next to his father’s corpse. Regret washes through him like a tidal wave – if only he’d snatched them off the ground and taken them with him. It doesn’t matter, though. Tooru still has valuable jewellery on his body, and one thing’s for sure.

 

No treasure is worth the price of his best friend’s life.

 

Squaring his jaw, the Prince unhooks his two large, blue sapphire earrings and places them in Suga’s hands. The grey-haired boy stares at him with wide almond eyes. “Tooru… Aren’t these your mother’s?”

 

Tooru’s answering smile is grim. “They’ll serve someone alive better than they could anyone already dead.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. i // Privilege

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a bitch tbh.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all the wonderful support :)) Enjoy!!

 

Tooru is intrigued by the small town at the foot of Daichi’s mountain.

 

All his life, the Prince has lived in the Palace; always sat comfortably in the lap of luxury, a jewel-encrusted spoon dangling from his mouth. Tooru hasn’t even had the need to dress himself before, always happy to entrust that particular task to Suga.

 

Commoners and their way of life are as foreign to him as – well, anything outside of the Palace. Tooru’s day-to-day life had consisted only of commuting between the Palace Gardens, the Royal Court and his own chambers, after all. It’s almost as though, for eighteen years, the Palace were his entire world.

 

Anything beyond the dauntingly tall, red walls had been of no concern to him.

 

So imagine Tooru’s surprise when, while trekking through the filthy roads of the market street, he stumbles upon a group of humans – little boys and girls, and even grown adults – in large wooden cages. They’re all as filthy as the mud beneath them; covered in their own waste and skinny like they’d not had a good meal for years. All they have as clothing are rags that make the Prince feel grateful for his own badly-made robes.

 

“What- What is that?” Tooru frowns, pointing at the large cages. He’s never seen anything like it. Everyone in the Palace had been well-fed and dressed in bright garb; even the servants. “Do they not have a decent master? Or have they done something so horrible they deserve punishment to that degree?”

 

Daichi’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Those are slaves, Oikawa.”

 

“Slaves.” Tooru repeats, feeling out the word with his tongue. “What do they do? I’ve never heard of them before.”

 

“The palace doesn’t have slaves?” Daichi questions, sounding more shocked at Tooru’s ignorance than expected. The two of them stop near to an alleyway, and Tooru shakes his head, a little annoyed. Daichi reaches to tug the Prince’s hood back further down his forehead. “Slaves are pretty much peoples’ property. They’re mostly the people of the Kingdoms we’ve absorbed, but it’s not unusual to see our own people selling themselves for the money.”

 

Tooru’s frown deepens, his mind reeling. The servants in the palace had all been from respectable families. His previous personal maid had been the daughter of a shoe tradesman, and she’d left after her father found her a husband.

 

“Why would they sell themselves to others?” Tooru asks, as he looks back at the cage. A man is looking at the slaves inside it, sometimes reaching out to squeeze their arms and legs; treating them like mere animal stock. He looks back at Daichi, gaze conflicted. “I can’t fathom the thought of being anyone’s property, let alone being treated like I’m not even human. I don’t understand why they would…”

 

“That’s ‘cause you’re… you know,” Daichi replies, brown gaze solemn. There’s a spark of something like frustration there as well, before they both look back at the cage. The man is hauling a young boy out of his confines, placing a small pouch of what looks like gold in the seller’s outstretched palm. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, not since you’ve been brought up the way you have, at least.”

 

Tooru bites his lower lip. Daichi is right in the way that he may never be able to comprehend how commoners think, not with his upbringing, and, for once in his life, Tooru kind of hates not being able to relate. “And this is all legal?”

 

“Yeah, and it’s really common, actually, even if they cost a bomb.” Daichi shrugs, leaning back against a grimy wall without a thought. He crosses his arms. “It’s not as usual in a small town like this one, but the farmers have been scrambling for cheap stock lately, because of that flood a few months back.”

 

“A flood?” Tooru repeats. Daichi is speaking the same language, but somehow, none of things he says makes any sense whatsoever to the Prince.

 

“There was a really bad one that destroyed most of our crops, didn’t you know?” Daichi’s eyebrows knit together in a deep frown, his crossed arms flexing visibly under badly made sleeves. “There’s been a severe food shortage ever since, even though I’ve heard that the Crown has been trying to increase our imports. I haven’t been affected that much since I normally hunt for food, but… Oikawa, do you even know _anything_ about your country?”

 

Tooru freezes, eyes widening in shock. _No one_ has ever spoken that way to him before. No one has _dared_ to be impatient with him.

 

… But isn’t Daichi right?

 

Tooru knows close to nothing about the domestic affairs of his country – and what kind of Prince- what kind of King-to-be lacks even _basic knowledge_ of the lands he rules? Learning to manage petty nobles won’t matter if the common people are starving, and balancing international relations won’t make a difference if his own country is in turmoil.

 

The shock of his sudden revelation has Tooru stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the alley wall. “You- I-”

 

“I’m back!” Suga’s voice floats into the alleyway, a pinch higher than usual in what Tooru can tell is satisfaction. He must have been able to get the herbs he needed.

 

“I’m going to run some errands.” Daichi says, gruffly, as he lumbers out into the main street. He pauses, back tense, before turning his head to regard the two of them. “Meet me at the same entrance in about an hour, alright?”

 

“Did something happen?” Suga asks, once Daichi is out of hearing range. He still looks wrong, somehow, in the threadbare clothes Daichi had so kindly spared for them. There is a small basket of herbs hooked on his bent elbow, and Tooru realises that, in this garb, Suga could very well be mistaken for a simple commoner – save for the telltale silver of his hair, of course.

 

“No, we were just talking.” Tooru manages to reply after a short pause, aiming a close-eyed smile at Suga as they begin to walk in the opposite direction Daichi headed in. “How about you?”

 

Suga winks, and slips something small into Tooru’s palm.

 

The glint of blue is recognizable even in the dimming light, and the Prince can’t help but gasp loudly. “Suga-chan!”

 

Suga laughs in response, shushing Tooru before his delight can ascend to excited squawks. “The money from our clothes and one earring is more than enough, so keep it, Tooru. I know it means a lot to you.”

 

Tooru stares at the blue sapphire for a second more, before he nods and slips it into his pocket. Suga has always had the ability to understand Tooru more than he can himself, and this is just one of the times the Prince is extremely grateful for somehow gaining as good of a friend as Suga. “Thank you, Suga-chan.”

 

“It’s no problem, my- Tooru.” Suga grins broadly, cheeks pinking from his slip-up. He links his free arm around Tooru’s arm, and pulls him towards the end of the street. They stop in front of a decent-looking fabric shop, where Suga takes a roll of light turqoise material – softer and thicker than what they are wearing now, but still a world away from the silk he’s used to – and pulls it up against Tooru’s chest. “I saw this place on the way to meet you and Daichi, and I thought this colour would really suit you. As expected, your Suga-chan is always right!”

 

“What?” Tooru can feel his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. A terrible uneasiness rises in his gut. “Suga-chan, we don’t have the money to-”

 

“I did say that the money from pawning our things was more than enough, right?” Suga turns from where he’s rumaging through the many coloured rolls on display to shoot him a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up. “Now, do me a favour and hold onto that colour so that I can choose a few others. Do you think it’s a good idea to make Daichi new robes as thanks? Everything he has now seems to be in rags.”

 

“Y-Yes.” Tooru replies, stunned. There are tears gathering in his eyes, and the Prince realises, belatedly, that it’s from the shock of having his privilege, and now the lack of it, so blatantly exposed to him.

 

Clutching the turqoise material to his chest, Tooru swallows dryly. Being aware that he’s lacking – that he can’t _afford_ to have something, that he’s been so sheltered his entire life that he doesn’t even know how the outside world _works_ – ushers in some pretty terrible feelings that chew on him relentlessly.

 

Tooru was a Prince, but without money, and without his father’s power? Tooru is hardly _anything_ now.

 

All he has left are his two childhood friends; one of whom is dying from a painful poison that was Tooru’s fault in the first place, and the other who is unknowingly estranged from his entire family whilst serving the boy who’d ordered the death of his brother.

 

Lowering his head, Tooru watches as a stray tear lands on his clenched fist.

 

Maybe everything happened for a reason. Maybe Ushijima had been right, and Tooru is nothing more than a trophy meant for display.

 

He surely doesn’t feel like he deserves anything better than that.

 

Such a frivolous, useless Prince.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. i // King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, finally an update!! HAHA FML Hopefully I get my groove back and I can write more again :") 
> 
> In the meantime, Enjoy! Do leave some kudos/comments if you like it <3

No one has ever had the gall to truly be _mad_ at Tooru.

 

With the King busy running a country and no Queen to speak of, the Crown Prince had been doted on by servants for the majority of his life. As the darling of the Empire, Tooru had been spoilt rotten and then some, with only Iwaizumi and Sugawara to ground him in a world overfilling with riches.

 

Which only makes Daichi’s disappointment in him _that_ much more unbearable.

 

Tooru has never felt more terrible. It’s not like he means to be ignorant of his country – he’s always strived to be the best version of himself. He just… hadn’t been privvy to the information he’s needed.

 

Frustrated, the Prince shuts his eyes tightly and leans back against the trunk of a tree. All he’s sure of now is that Daichi saved them, and that without him, they wouldn’t even be alive. The sensible thing to do would of course be to apologise, but experience with years of subserviant behaviour and nothing but has left Tooru inadequate on that front.

 

“My parents served a wise King.”

 

Tooru’s eyes snap open at the sudden declaration, but his gaze stays straight. Rather unsure of what to expect, the Prince pulls his knees close and hugs them to his chest.

 

“At least, that’s what they said he was.” Daichi continues, his deep voice sounding far away even though Tooru can hear the crunch of fallen leaves under his feet. “They said he had been a good king, up till the moment an old hag arrived on his doorstep and delivered a damning prophecy.”

 

Tooru’s entire body freezes, and a chill travels up his spine. _Night will fall, where his Four Horsemen tread-_

 

“My father was expelled from court, and my family exiled. I’m sure the same fate awaited any who heard of it.” Daichi continues, in the nonchalant way of someone who has had both too much and too little time to get used to a particularly daunting fact. “A King may be good or bad, wise or foolish, but it remains that only his subjects may suffer from it.”

 

Conquest, War, Famine and Death. With the assumption that the Four Horsemen are the end of the long-spanning Oikawa dynasty, the King had spent years expanding the Empire’s military might by absorbing all surrounding Kingdoms, and even filling foodstores to an almost fanatic degree. Tooru just hadn’t been aware that there had been a purging of Palace Officials to match.

 

Gaze refocusing on the humble living quarters before him, Tooru nibbles on an already swollen lower lip. What Daichi says of him is true as well. It is _Tooru’s_ shortcomings, and _Tooru’s_ problems that have led Iwaizumi and Sugawara to the state that they are in now; dying on a straw mattress and estranged from family.

 

From family that _Tooru_ murdered.

 

“I apologise for my outburst yesterday. I was out of line.” Daichi continues, after an extended silence on the Prince’s part. There is the soft sound of shuffling, as well as a small sigh to accompany retreating footsteps. “Just remember that being a leader – a King – is not as simple as having the right blood running through your veins.”

 

Daichi’s simple statement strikes something like a dissonant chord deep in Tooru’s chest. There has been many a wavering of the Prince’s heart in this particular matter, regardless of how self-entitled he acts in front of his cousin and the palace ministers, and Tooru is being truthful when he turns around and grabs onto the edge of Daichi’s clothes.

 

“In all honesty, I’d be a terrible King. One of the worst history has ever seen.” Tooru is proud of how his voice only wavers slightly, fixing a resolute gaze on Daichi’s widening brown hues. “I only have certain knowledge of battlefields I have never stood on, and everything else I thought I knew is nothing but fabrication. The only thing that ties me even remotely to the throne is my blood – which is why I need _your_ help.”

 

One of Daichi’s dark eyebrows rises, and his tanned forehead wrinkles. “Your highness, I don’t think that’d be-”

 

“You are the son of loyalists, and high-ranking officials at that. They must have taught you everything they knew.” Tooru interrupts, body turning fully to face the other man. “You’ve been living amongst the people. You know everything about them, how could you not be suitable?”

 

Daichi stays silent after Tooru’s outburst, but the look in his eyes is unsure. Tooru takes the chance.

 

“I want to learn, Sawamura-san. I want to learn about my people and then become the King they need.” Tooru knows that he has to know more, so much more, if he is to take back the throne from Ushijima and sit on it, and he knows that Daichi knows it too, from the way his jaw hardens and his eyes glint.

 

“I’m not sure why you’d ask something like that of me, but I’ll do my best.” Daichi finally sighs, running his fingers through short, dark hair. They share a solemn look, one of promise, before Daichi turns away and Tooru allows his hand to drop to the floor.

 

The battle, however small, has been won, and Tooru’s lips quirk in a smile to match. Gaining knowledge about his land and his people – learning to tell the truth from the false – will be his first step. He is not sure what the next will be, either, but Tooru has always been a soul driven by purpose and action, and this, at least, will help him on the road back to the Capital and his throne.

 

“What are you smiling at, my Prince?” The melodious voice draws Tooru out of his thoughts as easily as it has his entire childhood, but the affection his heart holds is dulled by a chilling guilt.

 

Suga approaches him with a tired grin and a basket balanced on his hip, the smell of medicinal herbs clinging onto his skin. Tooru stands, his features immediately turning anixous, but his grey-haired attendant only laughs. “Don’t fret, my Lord, Hajime will be alright.”

 

Tooru’s shoulders sag visibly in relief, and he wordlessly pulls Suga into a tight hug. “Thank the heavens.”

 

For the past two days, Iwaizumi had been plagued by a poison-induced fever. The tossing and turning would only break when he’d wake up at odd hours, dazed and entirely unaware of his surroundings, before falling back unconscious. Suga had been his primary caretaker, feeding him medicine and dabbing a washcloth to his forehead.

 

“Walk with me, my Lord.” Suga says, only acknowledging Tooru’s questioning gaze with another bright smile. That expression – the one Suga is wearing now – will probably always haunt Tooru with the out-of-reach mysteries behind it. Entirely unsure of what to expect, the Prince only scratches the back of his head before following his attendant into the forest.

 

The trek is gentle, so they lapse into silence; the oddly comfortably kind that comes from years of friendship. Suga has been by Tooru’s side for a _long_ time, as not just his attendant but also his dear friend. Walking him through the palace, accompanying him on his expeditions to the Royal Gardens, watching him eat – silence is a normal part of their routine, or else they would have tired of each other much earlier on.

 

“Here we are.” Suga finally announces as they stop at a large boulder. He sets his basket of herbs on top of it and gestures for the Prince to come closer.

 

Tooru obliges obediently, watching in fascination as Suga’s nimble fingers unravel the stained fabric wrapped around his right forearm. The sword wound from Kousuke still hurts from time to time, when he’s not careful, but the cut is already scabbing over and turning a dull brown. It had been a big wound, and Suga tells him that there will definitely be a scar left over, running up the outside of his forearm in one clean stroke.

 

Suga hums lowly as he turns Tooru’s arm, touch stilling over the birthmark on his inner wrist. It’s rather odd; dull red in colour and shaped vaguely like a spiked orb. Almost like a sun.

 

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I know that there’s no mistake.” The tone of Suga’s voice has changed, almost to one of shock and fascination. Tooru frowns – Suga isn’t making any sense. Before he can ask the grey-haired boy to explain himself, the Prince hears the snapping of a twig a little while away and whirls around to find the source.

 

The thick foliage makes it hard to see at first, but Tooru can make out the approaching silhouette of their host. Summer has always been a humid extreme in the Empire, and Daichi’s shirt is missing as he carries four large buckets of water up the side of the mountain. It’s a splendid display of strength, as even Iwaizumi would have trouble with such a heavy load, but that can’t be what Suga is so stunned about.

 

“What are you-” Tooru trails off as Daichi walks past them. A glimpse of his back is enough, and Tooru’s eyes grow big in disbelief because there, sitting between Daichi’s shoulderblades, is a dull red sun identical to his own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. i // Prophecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, special thanks to Colourlesszero, who helped with a little brainstorming and got my mind working again. Also, I won't be able to update as frequently/regularly as I'd like because unlike with Royal Flush, I'm working now and have way less time to write.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, even after so long <33 Enjoy :)

 

“ _The Rightful King will be true on the cusp of adulthood; the harbringer of devastation and tragedy… Conquest; of overwhelming strength, War; of destructive spread, Famine; of poisonous touch, and Death; of swift end – Night will fall, where his Four Horsemen tread. Look to the Red Dawn_.” Suga recites, a little crease forming between his brows at the damning words. “That’s all there is to it, right? There’s nothing else?”

 

Tooru shakes his head. His eyes are transfixed on Suga’s fingers as they skillfully redress his wound, but his mind is far away. Daichi has the same birthmark as him. It shouldn’t even be possible, so what could it possibly _mean_? Unless… “What if… What if the Four Horsemen aren’t waves of the apocalypse, like my father thought?”

 

Suga’s gaze snaps up to meet Tooru’s. “You think that they could be actual Horsemen, actual people?”

 

Tooru nods, slowly, and runs fingers over the bandage wrapped around his forearm. “It could be… possible. Why else would Daichi have the exact same birthmark? When you first saw mine, you said you’d never heard or seen of anything quite like it.”

 

“That’s true.” Suga agrees, and winces along with Tooru when he accidentally pulls the last knot too tight. “Sorry, your Highness. Your theory seems sound. At least now, we finally know something about the Horsemen.”

 

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain any of the rest of it.” Tooru grinds his teeth together in frustration. He runs a hand through his hair and starts the hike back to Daichi’s house. “ _The Rightful King will be true on the cusp of adulthood; the harbringer of devastation and tragedy_. That’s the first line of the prophecy, and it’s already happened. There was a coup for the throne on the day I came of age – if that’s not specific enough, I don’t know what is.”

 

“My Prince-”

 

“ _Conquest, War, Famine, Death. Night will fall where his Four Horsemen tread_. Night. Night. Night- death, it could mean death, right? The end of the day. I’m the end of the Oikawa dynasty, the last son. If I sit on the throne, then the Empire is doomed.” Tooru mutters, now more to himself than to Suga, as he unconsciously picks up his pace. “ _Look to the Red Dawn_. That’s the last line. Why would they talk about a Dawn after Night? That’s the natural order of things, yes, but… a bloody beginning? The beginning of the apocalypse?”

 

“Tooru, listen-”

 

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Tooru cries, rubbing at his right temple with his fingers. The same, head-splitting migraine overcomes him every time he thinks about the Prophecy and is reminded of all the disappointed looks his father shot his way, all the sleepless nights he’d contemplated just ending it for good. “Was I doomed from the start? Do I really have no other choice in life than to follow in this path of ruin?”

 

Tooru stops at that, standing stock still as his head pounds and his nose stings and his eyes water. Tooru stops, and for the first time since his childhood, allows his shoulders to shake in unrestrained sobs.

 

“Tooru…” Suga murmurs, exhaling softly through his nose, before there are arms wrapping around Tooru’s trembling body and a comforting warmth latched onto his back. There is long period of silence, and the occasional hiccup, before the grey-haired noble pulls away so that they’re facing each other. “I haven’t seen you ugly-cry since you fell down when we were ten.”

 

Tooru laughs through his tears and raises his right arm to wipe at his face. The left reaches down to lace his fingers between Suga’s. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Koushi. Even Iwa-chan…”

 

“Hajime will be fine. Didn’t I tell you that just now?” Suga admonishes, slowly leading them back up the hill. The sun is about to set, azure fading gradually into a yellow sunset, and they won’t be able to find their way if they stay out past dark. “Don’t worry about the Prophecy too much, Tooru. Everything that happened so far isn’t any of our explicit decisions, or anything we planned thoroughly. It just… happened.”

 

Tooru’s frown deepens. His eyes are still bloodshot, but glow a golden bronze in the sunlight. “You mean that we should just let fate take its course?”

 

Suga nods. There is uncertainty in his gaze, as should rightfully be in any sort of Prophecy-Situation, but there is also something else in them that Tooru trusts. “What is your goal now, my Prince?”

 

“To get the throne back, of course.” Tooru replies immediately, with the confidence of a boy who’s been promised a gift for his whole life, and who is still expecting to receive it. That would have been all there was only four days before, but inevitability has now been clouded by doubt. “And avenge my father… But if it means sure Apocalypse for the Empire, then how am I to-”

 

“To get the throne back.” Suga repeats, mouth hardening. “There was no hesitation when you spoke it, so don’t let any daunt you after. I’m sure no matter what we’re doing, or where we are, the Prophecy will catch up to us. It’s because it’s etched into our bones, and into the very earth beneath our feet. We can never run away from it, so we might as well embrace it.”

 

Tooru inhales deeply and closes his eyes. After a short pause, he opens his eyes and nods. “We’ll get the throne back from that usurper. Ushijima is fascinated by war. He was furious when my father ordered the frontlines to halt, and now that he has the power he’ll want the fighting to start up again.”

 

Suga frowns; likely remembering the turbulent times of war that had only recently given way to a short-lived peace. Tooru understands, because he can clearly recall it too – the late nights studying the terrain of a battlefield, strategizing with the Royal War Council, sending the Generals, Iwaizumi being one of them, off to an uncertain fate.

 

“You’re with me?” Tooru asks, his hand a death grip around Suga’s. His eyes are large and frightened, and Suga is reminded that this Prince, this brilliant strategist and the future ruler of the Empire, standing in front of him is merely a boy of eighteen – one who has never even stepped foot out of the Palace prior, let alone gone to war. “No matter what?”

 

“Forever and always.” Suga answers, pulling his hand from Tooru’s grasp and offering him his last finger instead. Tooru seals the promise almost immediately, which makes the both of them chuckle. “You have my word. And you’ll have Hajime’s, as well, when he wakes up.”

 

As Tooru’s life is not made simply of the calm and peaceful; those particular moments being interjected between the reality of a chaotic and tumultous fate, it is at this juncture in a meaningful conversation that a yell pierces through the quiet and startles a few birds into flight. It’s not a cry for help, no, it’s sharper and fiercer; almost angry, and both Tooru and Suga are off in a sprint back towards Daichi’s house before either can comprehend it.

 

Lungs burning and chest heaving, the two boys are nearing Daichi’s house when they see the source of a commotion – a source that has tears springing to Tooru’s still-irritated eyes.

 

“Where are they?” Iwaizumi Hajime demands, sword held en guard against a bewildered Daichi. He’s still slightly pale, but his eyes are alert and he’s finally on his feet.

 

“Look, calm down- they’re safe, alright? You have to-” Daichi starts, but interrupts himself by jumping to the side and narrowly avoiding Iwaizumi’s sudden swipe. The general growls a little impatiently and darts forward in another attempt to hit Daichi. “Stop-”

 

“He must think that Daichi is an enemy.” Suga pants, a little further back than Tooru. They’re approaching the small house, but are still too far away to be heard. Tooru winces when there is a particularly close jab and picks up his pace.

 

Honestly, Daichi is doing very well. Iwaizumi has been training since he was a child – they don’t call him the Pillar of the South for no reason. Amongst the four Generals, Tooru believes Iwaizumi to be the strongest. Once, he singlehandedly defeated thirty assasins when Tooru’s carriage had been ambushed and his guard caught unawares. To have avoided any injury – even while Iwaizumi is still recovering – is incredible, and fortunately so, since his large broadsword cuts through bodies like butter.

 

However, it seems Daichi’s luck has run out.

 

Iwaizumi has cornered him along the tree line. Daichi is still trying to explain himself, but the General seems hell bent on slicing him in half – with the large scar on his face and his rather rugged looks, Daichi does look quite the part of a thief or a hired hand.

 

Tooru’s heart plunges when, just as they’re breaking through to the clearing, Daichi trips on a large root and starts falling backwards. “Stop-”

 

Iwaizumi turns, immediately, when he hears Tooru’s voice, but his sword is already sailing through the air. Everything seems to slow down as Daichi raises an arm to meet the broadsword in defence – a sharp sword paired with a strong swing, and even Tooru can see that the odds of Daichi remaining in one piece are none.

 

But Daichi does not cry out in pain, nor does his forearm shatter into two. There is no blood nor is there the white flash of bone; only the sharp ringing of Iwaizumi’s sword as it meets Daichi’s arm and – almost like the backlash of metal against metal – _rebounds_ off it without leaving so much as a scratch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. i // Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 crashed just now I was shook. Thank you for all your support, y'all are seriously the best <3 And!! For my long-time readers: I have a surprise for y'all on Saturday (just realised that's tomorrow lmao) - not that it wasn't coming already ^^"
> 
> Enjoy :))

 

_Conquest; of overwhelming strength._

 

It’s all Tooru can think of as he pulls Iwaizumi away from Daichi, and it’s all he can think of as he explains the happenings of the past several days to the General. The Prince doesn’t even know if Iwaizumi is present enough to understand the information presented to him through a rush of words close to gibberish – Tooru himself is distracted enough; his gaze somehow always finding its way back to Daichi.

 

Suga has taken to examining the said man for injuries, regardless of his weak protests, but the attendant’s puzzled frown tells Tooru all he needs to know.

 

“Thank you for coming back to me.” Tooru mutters as he turns his attention back to the General standing next to him. “I thought you… We thought you mightn’t survive.”

 

For a moment, Iwaizumi’s expression is one of unadultered surprise. It fades as quickly as it appeared, the general encasing Tooru in a crushing hug. “Stupid Prince.”

 

The fact that Iwaizumi is relieved that all three of them are alright goes unsaid, but Tooru can feel it from the way Iwaizumi looks at him. In a way, it’s more than enough. Tooru and the General have always had a quiet, close to silent understanding in a way that even Suga is unable to compare.

 

They take a moment to savour each other’s presence; barely safe but safe all the same, before Iwaizumi pulls away. He takes a deep breath, nods at his Prince, and marches back towards the treeline. Tooru already knows what the General is about to do, and his eyes only widen a fraction when Iwaizumi fells a great tree with a single swing of his sword.

 

“I apologise for my earlier behaviour,” Gaze now narrowed, Iwaizumi directs his attention to Daichi and goes straight to the point. “But how are you entirely unscathed?”

 

Daichi purses his lips, his eyes burning with something Tooru cannot identify. The silence stretches thin, almost to the point where Tooru thinks Daichi may not answer, when the latter releases a soft sigh. “It’s been that way since I was young. I’m not sure why, but no weapon leaves a mark on me. When I fall down, my knees don’t get scraped. When I carry wood, there are no splinters. The impact of a sword on my skin doesn’t even hurt.”

 

“That’s amazing.” Suga exhales, brown eyes bright with curiosity. They dull, suddenly, when he realises something. “But then…”

 

Daichi notices where his eyes stray and reaches up to smooth fingers over the raised scar running along the side of his face. “I’m told this happened when I was just a child. A thief held a knife to my neck as he threatened my parents, but he slipped. I can’t even remember when it happened.”

 

“So you weren’t born with your… ability?” Iwaizumi’s curiosity has been piqued, and it’s not without reason. He has never met anyone who’s been able to survive a full-out attack on his part. “And you must be strong, as well. A swing like that should have lifted you off the feet, at the very least.”

 

Daichi nods; apparently an answer to both questions. “About eighteen years ago, I suddenly realised I could fall down without consequence, and that the things I could do, the things I could carry – they weren’t normal.”

 

“And… your birthmark?” Tooru’s voice is tentative, but it grows in confidence as he continues. “Has it always been there?”

 

“Yes, I was born with it.” Daichi frowns, likely in confusion, before he tugs off his shirt and turns. The red sun sits innocently between his shoulderblades, a few times larger than the one printed on Tooru’s wrist. The dark-haired man turns back around. “It’s pretty uncommon. My parents always thought it had something to do with how I could carry the same amount of water as my father when I’d only been ten.”

 

Iwaizumi, who had previously not been aware of Daichi’s matching birthmark, turns to Tooru in surprise. The latter is already unravelling the bandage around his forearm.

 

“Sawamura-san,” Tooru begins as he throws the white strips to the ground, turning his inner wrist outwards so that his birthmark is displayed clearly. Daichi’s eyes land on the small insignia immediately, his mouth falling open in shock. “I think your parents may have been right.”

 

“What- I don’t, I don’t understand?” Daichi takes a step forward and rubs at his eyes, the confusion and disbelief apparent on his normally stoic features. “This can’t be, I’ve never even heard of someone with a birthmark like this. It’s impossible.”

 

Tooru closes his eyes. “Eighteen years ago, an old hag came up to the Palace Gates demanding to be let in. She said that she was a Prophet, and she had something to say to the King. She had almost been turned away – but my mother wanted to hear what she had to say. The old hag was allowed in, and she delivered a damning Prophecy. One that had the King had no choice but to acknowledge.”

 

Daichi is silent as the words – and their meaning – sink in. When they do, he steps backwards again and excuses himself from the clearing. Tooru exhales, long and deep, and shakes his head when Suga looks as though he’s about to follow their host into the forest.

 

Instead, Tooru tells them both to stay.

 

It’s not something he would have done if he were still the privileged Crown Prince of the Empire, sitting idly in meticulously groomed gardens far removed from any danger, but there is still no hesitation in his stride as Tooru chases after Daichi.

 

“You knew.” Daichi says, his voice breaking the background of chirping crickets and soft footsteps. “When I told you about my parents… you knew they were thrown out by _your_ father.”

 

“I couldn’t be sure.” Tooru says, earnestly. Daichi whirls around to face him, and the Prince doesn’t avert his gaze. “Everything about how my father runs the Empire, I learn through hearsay and records from the Royal Library. There was nothing about the purging of Palace Officials but the one thing our stories have in common is this goddamn Prophecy.”

 

Daichi remains silent, contemplating, so Tooru continues. “The Prophecy is important because I’m almost certain that what your parents belived is true. That the birthmark on your back connects your life to mine, and that we cannot escape the fate laid out for us no matter how hard we try.”

 

“What does it say?” The dark-haired man questions. His voice is hoarse and quiet in a way that Tooru dreads.

 

_Apocalypse_ , Tooru thinks. And then he opens his mouth. “Chaos on my eighteenth – there was a coup, and I’ve become a wanted fugitive. And then the coming of Four Horsemen; Conquest, War, Famine and Death.”

 

“You think one of them’s me?” One of Daichi’s eyebrows arches.

 

Tooru nods. “Conquest; of overwhelming strength. It would make sense, taking into consideration the nature of your powers and the identical birthmarks.”

 

“You’re not- a Horsemen too, are you?” Daichi’s gaze is still glued onto Tooru’s bare wrist. He pulls his gaze upwards, and meets Tooru in the eye. “What’s the significance of the birthmarks?”

 

“The Horsemen…they’re the ones Prophecized to support the true King.” Tooru explains, running a hand through his hair. His braids have fallen loose in all the commotion. “I’m not sure what the significance is, but Suga and I thought it’s probably a way for us to identify them.”

 

“The true King.” Daichi repeats, eyes narrowing. “You want me to _serve you_. You want me to be loyal to you, to be willing to give my life for you, as I’m sure both Iwaizumi and Suga are.”

 

Tooru clenches his jaw. He doesn’t like Daichi’s tone. “You’ve seen the way I treat them, you _know_ that they’re not just servants to me. I value their lives the same way I would family, and that’s the same for you too. You saved my life, Sawamura, and you saved Suga’s, and Iwaizumi’s. I will never forget that.”

 

“Do you still remember what I said to you?” Daichi asks, his brown gaze soulful. “Rulers are like an everchanging tide. Serving them, a sole person with so much power, is like accepting an early death sentence.”

 

“Yes, and that’s why I need you by my side.” Tooru is almost pleading by now. “I asked you even before I knew you had anything to do with the Prophecy, before I knew anything else other than your compassion for the common people, and it’s because you can help me become a better King!”

 

Taken aback, Daichi stares at the boy before him; almost a decade younger, yet speaking of his heavy responsibilities without complaint or dread. Perhaps, this is the effect of being brought up to expect the world, and in turn to understand the great weight of it on one’s shoulders.

 

On the blurred edges of his mind, Daichi can recall his parents telling him about the King who they had loved with all their heart – even when he’d turned his back on them, taken everything from them and left them to die.

 

Maybe it’s time to find out what it feels like, to-

 

“I want to become a person who is worthy of his subjects’ loyalty.” Tooru’s declaration shatters Daichi’s train of thought without so much as a raised voice, his nails digging into his skin where he clenches his hands into tight fists. “Please.”

 

Daichi takes one look at the determination and sincerity in the boy’s eyes and finds himself speechless.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. i // Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a little bit of a time skip here :) also, i have a super important interview tomorrow and i'm incredibly nervous i cannot TT.TT
> 
> As always, thank you for your support <3 Enjoy!!!

 

They leave Daichi’s mountain within the following days; making haste in their walk East, away from the Capital City. Daichi, especially, had been torn over leaving the place he’s called home for so long, but there hadn’t been a choice in the matter – not when Ushijima’s dogs approach in their search for the fugitive Crown Prince.

 

“Let me guess, squirrel?” Tooru asks as he takes a seat facing the small fire. Four small bodies are skewered and hung above licking flames; already skillfully skinned and cleaned. Suga likes to joke that it’s the only thing he’s good at with a knife.

 

“Shut up, idiot Prince.” Iwaizumi growls, even as he’s sitting down next to Tooru. The setting sun casts a golden glow on their small camp grounds, and the General’s eyes flash when he turns to flick Tooru’s forehead. “You can go hungry for all I care.”

 

“Ow, Iwa-chan!” Tooru whines. His pout deepens when he hears Daichi’s snort from where the latter is setting down water from a nearby stream. “It’s been the same thing for the past two days….”

 

Suga laughs and grins, pulling out two brown, oddly shaped lumps. “I managed to find a few potatoes growing nearby, so we can have some stew with the last loaf of bread for breakfast instead.”

 

“Has he always pampered Oikawa like that?” Daichi questions Iwaizumi with a raised brow. The latter nods, rolling his eyes when the Prince tackles Suga in a hug.

 

Back in the Palace, Suga used to give in to Tooru’s demands _easily_ ; too happy to oblige, no matter the level of absurdity. When Iwa-chan had been mean, it was Suga who Tooru went crying to – and it doesn’t help that the grey-haired boy had looked after every aspect of Tooru’s life for _years_.

 

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, was just a part of a very different side of Tooru’s Palace life. It was of course the General who had attended sword-fighting lessons with the Prince, already a few years ahead, and it was the General who played catch with him in the Palace Gardens. Most of their early interactions had been ones where both boys had been on mostly equal standing so naturally, the nature of their relationship would be different from Suga and Tooru’s.

 

It’s not that Iwaizumi doesn’t understand – well, he doesn’t think he can _fully_ , but he does have quite a grasp on the situation – that Tooru is still struggling to adapt to life on the run, that for Tooru it is still a stark contrast to the luxurious life he led in the Palace.

 

But it’s not just that.

 

Tooru has always had a rather flippant attitude towards life; an attitude no one really bothered to correct, with the assumption that he would always live as carelessly as he did with the title of ‘Prince’ stamped in front of his name. This obnoxious personality Tooru likes to wave around like a sword on fire is also something that both Iwaizumi and Suga can see right through.

 

Between the disrespect and the privilege, there is always something cold in Tooru’s eyes. Something deep, and dark, and further than either one of them can reach.

 

Maybe now that Daichi is here, and there is one more person for Tooru to open up to, that will change. At least, Iwaizumi _hopes_ it will change. He might act like he wants Tooru’s light-heartedness gone, but the General is actually relieved that everything that happened the past few months hadn’t put a damper on Tooru’s whimsical personality; even though he knows it has, at times, forced the Prince’s darker persona out of him.

 

“Well, it’s a good sign that we could only find squirrels around here.” Daichi shrugs, squinting against the fading light as he joins them around the fire. Unlike Tooru, Suga, and even Iwaizumi, the scarred man has never expressed exhaustion during their daily treks – not even when he’s the one carrying all of their water and camping supplies. “It means that we’re approaching a big town. A Trade Town, if our map is accurate. There’s maybe… half a day’s left of traveling before we arrive.”

 

“A Trade Town?” Suga repeats. He worries his lip as he flips their dinner over for an even roast. “Won’t that be dangerous?”

 

Iwaizumi nods. “It will be, but we need to figure out what’s been happening back at the capital.” The general pauses, glancing at Tooru. “Ushijima’s had a few months. I’m sure he’s already started a reform.”

 

Tooru exhales deeply through his nose. Iwaizumi is correct. Tooru’s cousin has always been fascinated with war, as it’s where violence and spilled blood prevail that he prospers. It’s not going to be long before another war begins – not that it hasn’t already been brewing beneath barely civil diplomatic visits.

 

In the quiet that has taken over their small camp, Suga stands to distribute their dinner. The meat is tough but flavourful from seasoning, and Tooru’s has been dilligently rid of bones. As the Prince chews on his modest meal, fingers dainty on blackened twig, he watches the others pull their meat apart with their fingers; jaws working as they rip flesh from bone.

 

Would Suga still treat him this way if he knew what Tooru did? The Prince doesn’t even know how Suga is still taking care of him so well it feels as if he were still in the Palace; where there hadn’t just been the grey-haired attendant, but an army of handmaidens to help.

 

There had been once, Suga asked Tooru if he had any idea of what happened to his brothers. He asked if they were safe, if the Prince knew anything of their fates. Kousuke a Palace warden, and Kouichi the King’s personal guard. If the King is dead and the Prince banished; the family the Sugawara’s had served loyally for generations ruined – then what had become of the two?

 

It still shames Tooru to this day, that he could only look away and shake his head.

 

Suga, of course, thought nothing of it and never asked again. Even though Tooru knows how much it must be tearing his friend apart inside, worrying after family he doesn’t even know is dead.

 

Tooru just… can’t bring himself to say anything.

 

“Is the food not to your liking, my Prince?” Suga’s tentative probing draws Tooru out of his thoughts. There is worry in his eyes, and Tooru realises that he had been silent for too long.

 

“It’s amazing, Suga-chan, thank you!” Tooru’s reassurance is bright and immediate, and he makes sure to dig back into his dinner with renewed vigour. It’s not that Tooru thinks Suga lacks self confidence, or requires constant encouragement – his attendant is much stronger than that. Tooru just wants Suga to believe that he’s alright, that he’s fine and not dying just from living on the run for a few months, and that it is Suga, and Iwaizumi, and Daichi, who have helped him so far.

 

Tooru is struggling, yes, but he _can handle it_. By himself.

 

They don’t need any more stress or doubt than they already have on this uncertain journey.

 

“Suga and I will head into town after breakfast. Daichi and the annoying Prince wil stay behind in the camp.” Iwaizumi says, his eyes narrowing at the defiance growing on Tooru’s features. “It’s not safe, Oikawa. And besides, Daichi will have a whole day for your lessons tomorrow.”

 

Tooru sticks out his tongue. Sure, it had taken a while to convince Daichi to teach him all he knows – and everything he’s learned so far is nothing short of enlightening, but he _really_ wants to go to town.

 

“I’ve only ever seen that small village near Dai-chan’s mountain! It’ll be a good experience to see a town.” Tooru retorts, ignoring Daichi’s splutter. The latter is still not used to the nicknames, but Iwaizumi assures him with a long-suffering sigh that it’s not something Tooru will cease doing in the near future.

 

“Oikawa. What part of ‘it’s not safe’ do you not understand?” Iwaizumi repeats, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure it’ll be swarming with guards. If Ushijima is as serious about finding you as we believe he is, then there’ll be wanted posters of you everywhere.”

 

“I know that.” Tooru grumbles. And then shoots what he thinks his most effective puppy-eyed look is Iwaizumi’s way. “It’ll be really quick! I just want a peek!”

 

Iwaizumi grimaces. “Please stop that, it’s disgusting.”

 

“Please, Iwa-chan!” Tooru whines, overlooking Iwaizumi’s insult for the greater good. “Besides, we won’t even have to stay as long as we would if only you and Suga-chan go. I’ll wear my hood and everything! I just really want to help, Iwa-chan!”

 

There is a short silence where the Prine stares at Iwaizumi, before the latter is sighing deeply; fingers pinching his nose bridge even as he nods his assent. Daichi hides the knowing tilt of his lips by throwing his leftover bones into the fire.

 

Honestly, Iwaizumi likes to pretend that he never pampers Tooru like Suga does, but beneath the tough exterior they’re both equally as indulgent.

 

Decisions made and food finished, Tooru slips into his bedroll with a happy bounce to his step. Next to him, Suga does the same as Daichi douses the flames with water and Iwaizumi settles into the crook of a tree for first watch.

 

It’s already dark out, and the forest surrounding them turns pitch black without the light of the flames. There is something fluttery in Tooru’s stomach, a feeling of anticipation that has him unable to sleep for a long while more.

 

Tooru watches the small embers flickering in and out of existence, shivering when a cold breeze blows past him. Autumn has arrived, and with it comes colder nights and crisper mornings.

 

In the distance, an owl hoots.

 

Tooru stifles a smile and turns over, attempting yet again to bury the apprehensive flutter in his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. i // Facade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for this? Even though I guess it's not as popular as RF was? But I just love this work so much, I don't understand? 
> 
> I apologise for the rather slow updates! There's way more substance to these chapters than what I'm used to, but I'm trying my best to update ASAP! It'll be a lot quicker once I quit my job end-April :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your support <3 Enjoy!! :)

 

“This is amazing!” Tooru’s eyes are wide as he surveys his surroundings. Iwaizumi follows close behind him, his sword sheathed at his side.

 

Even in the morning, the place is bustling with people. There is a tall fountain in the middle of the town square, and strings of colourful flags hang from balconies. They stop to watch an inpromptu show – it’s a little taste of the travelling circus that’s in town.

 

Tooru cheers along with the gathered crowd as the lithe, dark-haired acrobat cartwheels across a thin rope held taut by two men. Pausing, the boy steadies himself before flipping through the air. He lands back on the rope without a hair out of place.

 

Iwaizumi pulls Tooru away from the little performance, frown deep on his features.

 

“Why are you always so grumpy, Iwa-chan? I wanted to watch that!” Tooru sniffs, although he’s already starting to get distracted by the noisy stalls lining the streets.

 

Iwaizumi growls a little under his breath and tugs at Tooru’s arm so that they’re facing the steadily growing crowd. “It’s all just a ploy, stupid-kawa. Look. _Closely_.”

 

At first, Tooru has to squint to pick out what Iwaizumi is talking about. After identifying the little forms scurrying through the audience, the Prince has, instead, a hard time drawing his eyes away.

 

Children, barely even waist-high in some cases, dart through the sea of people stealthily. The soft bumps as they brush past the adults are barely acknowledged in favour of the acrobat’s exciting performane on the makeshift stage – allowing these children to swiftly, and without incident, pickpocket the unassuming lot.

 

“That’s-” Tooru freezes, his train of thought lost as toffee brown meets slate green.

 

The acrobat – now standing to the side as a pair of clowns take the spotlight – stares right back at him unabashedly, and the fine hair on Tooru’s arms stands on end. It almost feels as though those heavily-lidded eyes are boring holes into his soul; the intelligent twinkle to them immediately raising the Prince’s guard.

 

After all, it is not often that Tooru’s façade is seen through so easily, or quickly.

 

“It feels like I’m learning something new every day I’m out of the Palace.” Tooru turns, breaking the connection, and aims a close-eyed smile at his childhood friend. He tugs on Iwaizumi’s arm and heads towards a street lined with makeshift stalls painted in the colours of the rainbow.

 

“Well, of course,” Iwaizumi’s steps are heavy, and they are accompanied by the sound of his scabbard shifting with the movement. “It’s a whole other world out here. One that I was truly worried you would be out of touch with till your crowning – and maybe even years after that.”

 

Iwaizumi runs a hand through his spiky hair as they browse through the items on display, and the Prince is suddenly hit with a strange feeling. Tooru has never been able to spend this much leisure time with Iwaizumi before, what with all the fussing Palace maids and both their tight schedules. When they did have time together it had always been for lessons, or something else of importance.

 

Never anything this mundane.

 

Watching Iwaizumi now, picking up an apple and lamenting that he would never be able to tell sweet from sour like Suga, Tooru realises that he quite likes it.

 

To be able to act without consequence, without the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders, and to simply enjoy the present with the people he treasures dearly – Tooru realises that it is a privilege that the most privileged person in the world would be unable to enjoy, and a privilege that he will be forced to give up for the throne.

 

Honestly, with their circumstances the way they are now, Tooru’s unsure of whether it actually is a privilege at all.

 

Without warning, Iwaizumi hooks an arm around Tooru’s waist and pulls him close. The Prince squeaks softly in surprise at the sudden movement, almost tripping over the uneven cobblestone ground when he looks questioningly at the General. This sort of close contact is not uncomfortable, not after years of familiarity, but it is still rather jarring to find himself abruptly pressed against his friend’s chest.

 

Iwaizumi only grunts softly, his other arm moving to tug the Prince’s hood further over his eyes. Understanding the silent command to be quiet, Tooru follows the General’s wary gaze and feels his chest constrict.

 

A squadron of six Palace guards is making their way through the throng of people at the opening of the street. They are far enough away that Iwaizumi and Tooru have not been spotted, but they are fast approaching and can possibly identify them at any moment. That… is not what either of them is concerned with. What – or rather who – is particularly worrying is the man at the head of the group. Tall, with pale skin and hair the colour of candy; a baby pink recognizable even in the midst of a thick crowd, the man has an aura of power that parts the sea of people with minimal effort.

 

“Hanamaki.” Iwaizumi mutters, his tone oddly strangled. He steps backward into the shadows, almost hesitantly, and brings Tooru with him.

 

Hanamaki Takahiro is one of the Four Generals of the Empire – the others being Sugawara Kouichi, Matsukawa Issei and Iwaizumi himself. They have fought many wars together and shared many a battlefield. There is no true answer to how many times they have saved each others’ lives, so it is natural that Iwaizumi is confused at the other General’s appearance.

 

Hanamaki is a brilliant fighter, and a smart one to boot. He’s talented, built to show it, and possesses both the wealth and influence to make an immense difference to their current objective. However, all this also makes the General a double-edged sword, as it is frankly impossible to figure out, for sure, which side he’s truly on.

 

It is a fact that Hanamaki is loyal to a fault, but where Iwaizumi has unbreakable ties to the Crown Prince, Hanamaki serves only his country – and not the Royal Family ruling it.

 

A commotion further away draws the attention of everyone on the street, and a flash of dark red has Iwaizumi ducking them both into an alleyway between two stalls. Hanamaki continues, unconcerned, but Tooru can tell that annoyance now contorts the lines of his fae. It morphs back into apathy when a red-haired man lopes up to his side; wide grin splitting his features in half.

 

Tendou Satori. Tooru identifies, eyes following the lanky commander. Like Hanamaki, he is dressed in armour that shines under the autumn sun; his eyes black pins swimming in white. Tooru has heard about his skill – a risky, almost suicidal technique that has earned him both reputation and merit. But none of that truly matters, not when he is, for all intents and purposes, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s right hand.

 

Iwaizumi and Tooru watch with bated breath as the two converse; Hanamaki’s sheer exasperation peeking out of its stony mask. Passersby avoid them like the plague – Tooru can see how they skirt around Tendou’s glinting spear with apprehension clear on their expressions.

 

The red-haired commander puts his hand on his hip and bends his back in a way that is too unnatural to be comfortable. The way he is long and crooked somehow reminds Tooru of a spider, or a monster with broken limbs, and the imagery on its own makes a chill run down the Prince’s spine.

 

Tendou’s mouth is still running as he continues a one-sided conversation, but there is a pause- a fracture, of sorts, in a moment in time, where everything slows to a stop, and Tendou’s eyes land on Tooru.

 

They are half-hidden in the shadows, and Tooru’s hood is so low it’s obscuring his vision, but Tendou _recognizes_ him. _He recognizes them_.

 

The way his smile turns sinister and his eyes narrow has the Prince’s heart leaping to his throat and his legs turning numb.

 

And then they’re running.

 

Tooru’s hood falls off as Iwaizumi leads them further into the maze of alleyways; their feet pounding on the ground and the blood rushing in his ears. There is shouting behind them, on the street, and it’s not too hard to figure out that they are being chased.

 

Iwaizumi pauses at a few intersections. Neither of them are sure of where to go, but the footsteps following them do not fade, and they have no choice but to head deeper into what seems like a labrinth of dark passageways.

 

“-How did they- _How_ -?” Tooru hisses, his breath coming up in short pants. In front of him, Iwaizumi curses. His hand is still wrapped tightly around Tooru’s wrist – the Prince is sure that he will bruise later. The footsteps are nearing, voices calling out to each other in the near vicinity.

 

“ _Psst_. Over here!”

 

Tooru startles at the sudden whisper, the words harsh even as they remain quiet. He meets Iwaizumi’s frown with his own, both unable to identify where the voice had come from.

 

“I’m over here!” The voice is a little clearer this time round, and they turn to see a tuft of hair sticking out from around the bend.

 

It’s an odd tuft; black strands streaked with white. Tooru realises that there are two of them when the man steps out from behind the wall, almost like a set of horns on top of his head.

 

Golden eyes narrow in a wide grin. “Follow me!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. i // Circumstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okayYY we have reached 100 kudos :") Thank y'all for the support! Updates might be a little slower in April cause we are SUPER understaffed at my workplace and management has us working 13 hour shifts! I'll try my best to get out the next chapter asap :)
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

Under normal circumstances, Tooru is very aware that following a complete stranger is not something that is at all safe.

 

Of course, these are not normal circumstances.

 

“Do you- even know where you’re _going_?” Tooru demands through tired pants. With no other choice than to face the people chasing after them, Tooru and Iwaizumi ended up trusting in the strange man and following him through the mess of alleyways they would have no hope navigating otherwise.

 

Now, however, with the passages growing so narrow they can hardly be called corridors and Tooru’s lungs screaming for air, the Prince is kind of, maybe, starting to regret it.

 

“Of course!” The stranger grins, his golden eyes flashing as he spares a backwards glance. The expression fades a little, turning sheepish. “Well, mostly. Probably.”

 

Tooru ignores Iwaizumi’s murderous glare and concentrates on evening out his breathing. They have been running long enough for a sharp pain to develop at his side, but while even Iwaizumi’s steps have grown heavy, the stranger is grinning – laughing, even, as he sprints effortlessly at a pace that neither Tooru nor Iwaizumi seem to be able to catch up to.

 

The number of people chasing after them has diminished significantly, even if not totally; lost on a wild-goose chase headed by a horned boy. At this point, Tooru is certain that he wouldn’t be able to retrace his steps at all – not that he’d even try it. He has no idea how the stranger just keeps running without pause.

 

“I didn’t think they’d last this long!” As if summoned by thought alone, the strange man shoots an amused look back at the few guards – five, if Tooru isn’t hallucinating from exhaustion – as if he’s merely playing a friendly round of catch. Maybe that’s what the stranger thinks this is. Tooru definitely wouldn’t put it past him, as well.

 

This entire situation is just _ridiculous_.

 

“Oho, here we are!” The stranger hoots, leaping into the air just as they turn into a widening alleyway. It is bright at the end of it, where the buildings are finally opening up to an open street, and they startle a chicken when they burst out of the shadows in a full charge.

 

At once, the Prince notices that there are significantly less people here than the large market they’d come from. A residential street, maybe. The few people they encounter move out of the way before the stranger is able to barrel through them – although he does display an incredible amount of agility when faced with the small minority who can’t; flipping over a small toddler and jumping onto a few crates where simply slowing down would suffice.

 

“Akaashi!” The stranger calls, suddenly and without warning. He’s waving, and jumping up and down boisterously even though the guards are catching up to them and Tooru’s heart is about to have a seizure. Further ahead from them, a boy turns at the sound of Bokuto’s voice. “Akaashi, help me out here!”

 

As they near, Tooru is struck with an odd mixture of shock and realisation. Intelligent green eyes, the same ones from the Town Square, bore into his own for the second time that day. The acrobat is standing stock still in the middle of the street – between the motionlessness and the striking beauty, Tooru could have mistaken him for a statue.

 

“Bokuto-san.” The acrobat’s eyes narrow as he makes to understand the situation. He turns to face them, and the grey-speckled owl resting on his shoulder ruffles its feathers as if annoyed by the movement. “What did you do this time?”

 

The strange man’s posture slumps a little, as though cowed by the other’s chastising tone, and the acrobat releases a long-suffering sigh. It’s not an answer, at least not to Tooru, but the acrobat moves before the Prince can even open his mouth.

 

With light, almost fleeting steps, the dark-haired boy darts forward, towards them, and – using the stranger’s hands as a boost – launches himself into the air. The grace with which the manouver is carried out is matched, equally, by the acrobat’s owl spreading its wings and taking flight.

 

The acrobat takes out two of the guards at the same time; his well-placed kicks hitting the sensitive nerves at the side of their necks and knocking them out. Tooru hadn’t realised it sooner, what with him staying so still before, but the dark-haired boy’s movements are accompanied by the soft chiming of bells.

 

Light-footed and flexible, the acrobat lands in a handspring. His feet split apart as he bounces off cobblestone as if it were sponge, latching around the next guard’s head and bringing it to the ground with his momentum.

 

Tooru _has_ tried developing a non-lethal fighting style – he has no calling for the battlefield, or any need to spill blood, so it really does make sense to do so. However, while the Prince’s fighting style is more to the point, and steered towards maximum effectiveness using minimum energy, the acrobat’s is obviously catered towards an audience. Even if Tooru had not known previously of the dark-haired boy’s background as a performer, it really isn’t hard to tell.

 

He moves like a dancer – fluid, yet somehow taut at the same time – and Tooru can’t reconcile that with the bloody and brutal of Iwaizumi and Ushijima’s fight.

 

It’s not to say that the acrobat isn’t _brutal_ , either. He’s more so cruel, honestly, Tooru thinks as he looks at the helplessly twitching bodies left on the floor. Or brutal in a sharper way.

 

By then, the strange man has joined the fight as well. His raucous laughter signals his entry, even as he’s busy dodging the tip of a spear, and Tooru feels like the day makes sense again when he punches one of the guards right in the face and a spray of blood erupts from the broken nose it leaves behind. Even with this more aggressive style, the stranger displays impressive flexibility for a man of his build – which is to say, stouter and brawnier than his acrobatic counterpart.

 

The stranger grins as he brings the last guard down with a merciless uppercut. He’s about to turn back towards Tooru and Iwaizumi, finished with disposing of their pursuers, but the stern expression on the acrobat’s face stops him in his tracks.

 

“Don’t look at me that way, ‘Kaashi, it’s cause I wanted to help them!” The stranger whines, gesturing to Iwaizumi and Tooru in the same fashion of a child deflecting a parent’s blame. Cold, green eyes flicker over to them – the recognition in them is accompanied by exasperation.

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” The stranger shouts, suddenly, already a hundred-and-eighty degree change, and hooks an elbow around the acrobat’s arm. The way he then forcefully drags his friend closer to them looks painful, to say the least, although the acrobat’s passive features remain unchanged. “I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou! And this is Akaashi Keiji.”

 

The newly introduced Bokuto pauses for a second as a hoot rings through the air. He holds out his arm as though expecting something, and then there is a flutter of feathers before an owl’s large talons are curling around his forearm as if it were a branch. “And this is Kouji, our owl!”

 

The mentioned owl ruffles its salt-and-pepper feathers and all but smacks Bokuto in the face. The man’s indignant shout is rewarded by a small upquirk of the lips from Akaashi – even if the only one who notices is Tooru.

 

Tooru sends Iwaizumi a look. They shouldn’t introduce themselves, not with their lives at stake, but the duo standing in front of them deserve more than just lies after helping them apprehend Palace Guards without so much as a question.

 

Tooru is saved from having to answer by Akaashi, who falls into a smooth bow that is altogether too graceful to be unpracticed. “Your Highness.”

 

Immediately, Iwaizumi pushes Tooru behind him. His hand is resting threateningly on the handle of his sword – but the Prince knows that neither Akaashi nor Bokuto mean them any harm. Tooru doesn’t know why, or how he knows that, but it’s a feeling he can’t ignore.

 

“What?” Bokuto gasps, golden eyes large as he cocks his head. It’s almost like looking into vats of honey. “Oh! You- You’re that Prince, aren’t you! Boy, is this a coincidence. Never thought I’d ever end up in this situation, that’s for sure!” He backpedals, chuckles wilting like a decaying flower, when he sees Iwaizumi’s glare. “Well, I mean. Uh- You can’t really expect not to be a fugitive, you know. Not after what you did!”

 

Tooru’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What I did?”

 

“Yeah,” It’s Bokuto’s turn to look puzzled, although Akaashi’s face is set in stone. “You killed your father to get to the throne? The new King – Ushijima something – he tried to stop you, and was injured in the process. Your wanted posters are _everywhere_!”

 

The words take a moment to register, and a buzzing sound fills Tooru’s ears when they do. It’s such a bizzare mutilation of fact that he almost wants to laugh – and he would have, if not for the sick, churning feeling in his belly. Instead, he raises a hand to rub at his temples. He can already feel a pounding headache starting to develop.

 

“Look, we’re Southernlanders, and we’re only in town with the travelling circus,” Bokuto looks distinctly uncomfortable at how white both Iwaizumi and Tooru have turned. Kouji ruffles his feathers and hops onto Bokuto’s shoulder. “The politics of the Empire have nothing to do with us, so don’t-”

 

“You should come.” Akaashi interrupts. Tooru hadn’t judged him as the impatient type, and Bokuto’s raised eyebrows agree. “There’s a show tonight. The last one before we move on.”

 

The acrobat is trying to tell Tooru something. He’s much too intelligent to involve himself with them needlessly, especially now that the Prince has been framed for murder. Tooru allows his hand to fall back down to his side; long sleeve slipping back down to cover his wrist.

 

Akaashi’s eyes are very green as they meet Tooru’s. “Come.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koutarou + Keiji = Kouji
> 
> just sayin'


	13. i // Showtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I'm moving away for college in July and the paperwork sucks D: Managed to get out this chapter though :")
> 
> Thank y'all so much for your support!! Enjoy <3

 

A circus is a place filled with wonder and joy, laughter and colour. It’s a place where childrens’ dreams come true - or at least that’s what Tooru’s heard from the Royal Tutor. He realises that it’s really the contrary when they arrive at the edge of the travelling circus’s campgrounds.

 

The ground is barren and grey from frequent trampling; small daisies lying flattened and crumbling on what’s left of the grass. Wheel tracks marr the uneven, muddy terrain like scars on skin, and the trailers and carriages they belong to litter the vicinity in a labyrinth of twisted wood.

 

Behind that, three fluttering red flags mark the position of the big top.

 

Beyond even that, is what Tooru knows is the face of the circus; a front of sugary treats and warmed chestnuts they keep to lure in their audience.

 

Iwaizumi casts a cursory glance around the shaded area. He’s already a few paces ahead of them, eyes narrowed in a frown. On the other hand, Suga’s expression is curious as he takes in his surroundings – likely as alien to him as they are to Tooru – while Daichi brings up the rear. When they met in the forest, Tooru’s attendant had been fuming, having heard of the news as Tooru and Iwaizumi had.

 

It seems Ushijima has been relying on Town gossip to fuel his lies, and it seems that he is very successful in doing so.

 

They had all been wary about venturing close into Town again, especially with Hanamaki and Tendou present, but there had been a nagging feeling in the Prince’s gut that made him adamant about meeting the two eccentrics again – even if he might very well be risking their lives to doing so.

 

Tooru jumps back in surprise, caught entirely off guard, when a big, grey creature lumbers close to them. It doesn’t look like it has any fur other than the coarse hairs sticking out from its rough, wrinkled skin, and it’s too big to be anything but collared and chained to a big nail in the ground. The Prince freezes in fear when the creature reaches out with its oddly long nose to nudge at his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see Iwaizumi’s hand flying to the handle of his sword.

 

“It’s okay!” Daichi soothes, stepping forward and closer to the creature. In response, the creature’s long nose leaves Tooru’s body and turns to sniff at Daichi’s hands. “They’re elephants – herbivores, so they’re harmless. Mostly, they’re found in the Southernlands, so the temperature up here must be hard on this boy.”

 

Tooru snorts. The Southernlands are a Monarchy to the South of the Empire. As both Kingdoms are lined by a tall mountain range to the West, the Southernlands are only accessible through a vast desert so fearsome and everchanging that it is nicknamed the Valley of Death.

 

The heatwaves on their own have probably taken more lives than the wars they have had with the proud race.

 

“What about this one?” Iwaizumi asks, pointing at the cage beside him. A creature with exquisite, orange-and-black striped fur lounges in one of the corners. It’s licking its own paws contentedly; thin tail wagging against the floor in a lazy rhythm. When the creature looks up, majestic dark eyes settling on them, it flashes sharp teeth that look to be the length of Tooru’s hand, from the tip of his finger to his wrist.

 

“It’s better that you didn’t try to stick your hands into that cage, Iwaizumi-san,” a voice interjects. Tooru almost pulls a muscle, whipping his head around fast enough to watch a lithe body melt out of the darkness like shadow itself.

 

Akaashi’s eyes are narrowed as they survey the group of four, his skin glowing in the fading sunlight. “I expected fewer people.” He pauses. “But it doesn’t matter. Follow me.”

 

The golden anklet tied around the acrobat’s right foot chimes with every step he takes. It’s a delicate little thing, and real gold as well, judging by the shimmer of it under the sun. Tooru approximates that the market value of it could buy a house, albeit a small one.

 

He wonders how a circus performer attains an amount of money large enough to buy something like that.

 

Akaashi leads them through the mess of trailers with ease, although Tooru certainly trusts him more than he did Bokuto that morning. There’s just something about the way Akaashi holds himself that inspires trust and security.

 

“That mark on your arm…” Akaashi’s voice is soft, and the backstage of the Big Top is loud with bustle, but all four of them hear the words loud and clear.

 

“It’s my birthmark.” Tooru mutters, hand curling shyly around the red sun on his wrist. Akaashi has stopped in front of a set of thick curtains – stage curtains, if the loud cheers behind it are anything to go by. The performance must still be going on. Something clicks in his brain, and the Prince almost smacks himself for being so slow. “You- Do you have the same one?”

 

Akaashi’s delicate eyebrow arches. “Is that something common to you?”

 

Suga elbows him in the side, and Tooru flushes a little when he realises how egotistical he sounds. “Well- not exactly, but-” The Prince cuts himself off when he notices that the acrobat is smiling at him – a tiny, almost imperceptible one, but a smile nonetheless.

 

“Then there is something you have to see.” Akaashi tilits his head as he steps to the side; pulling open the curtains so that all four of them have a good view of the stage.

 

Situated in the middle of a wide ring of stands, the stage is merely a large, circular platform. Three large pillars support the tent – they hold up the three peaks of the Big Top Tooru had seen from afar – and a tightrope is held suspended between the two furthest away from each other.

 

It almost seems like another world altogether.

 

The crowd cheers as a man steps onto the stage. He’s facing away from them, so all Tooru can see is a broad back, but the horn-shaped hair is not something Tooru can forget so easily.

 

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto shouts, raising his arms into the air. His entire upper body is unclothed; the sleeves of his robe hanging limply beside his thighs. The belt that supports the lower half of his outfit is drapped lowly on his hips, exposing the deep dimples on either side of his spine.

 

A single gesture is all Bokuto needs to silence the crowd. The candlelight dims on cue, casting an eerie glow that outlines Bokuto’s silhouette in hallowing yellow.

 

Tooru can’t look away from the mesmerizing view – Bokuto is magnificent on his own, yes, but his stage presence is something else entirely. It’s as if it grows to consume the room, stealing his breath and tugging at the strings that control him.

 

In the spotlight, Bokuto slowly raises his hand; palm up and fingers curved as though he were cradling something small and delicate.

 

“I’m sorry about him.” Akaashi pipes up, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Tooru is surprised he can speak, let alone look away from Bokuto’s performance. “It doesn’t normally take so much time, but he’s really riding the crowd today.”

 

A moment later, and Tooru understands what Akaashi is trying to say – not just about Bokuto milking his audience, but also about what he _has_ to see.

 

Because truly, this is not something Tooru could have believed had he not witnessed it himself.

 

Eyes big and pulse jumping, the Prince can only watch in awe as a small flame comes to life on Bokuto’s palm. It grows and grows, casting an amber glow on Bokuto’s serene features. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, even if the fire seems to be sitting on his bare skin.

 

Without warning, Bokuto fans his arms out- and the stage is bathed in light as the many candles surrounding the circular platform stutter to life.

 

The audience bursts into loud cheers as Boktuo begins a dance. It’s aggressive, almost to the point of feral, and the fire follows his movements like a snake to its charmer. Tooru realises that’s exactly the point Bokuto wants to make, when columns of shifting flame form into the shape of large vipers that twist and curl around their master’s body.

 

Tooru knows what this means.

 

Bokuto turns, his orange flames joining to form a large bird – a phoenix. Blazing wings fan out; dangerously close to the audience, as the fire roars in place of a real cry.

 

Even under the sheen of sweat, Tooru can spot the red sun sat on the skin of Bokuto’s chest. Identical to the one on his wrist, and Daichi’s back. Exhaling deeply, the Prince’s eyes glint brightly from the sight of controlled chaos and breathing fury.

 

 _Tooru knows what this means_.

 

Glancing at all three of his companions’ elated features, Tooru brings his gaze back to the bowing boy on stage.

 

They’ve found the Second Horseman.

 

Tooru is about to say something, _anything_ to convey his excitement, but all the lights shut off before he can. The Big Top is plunged into darkness, and even Akaashi, who’s normally so composed, looks shocked at the sudden turn of events.

 

“Well, well, well.” There’s the sound of footsteps above them, crowding the confused audience up in the stands. Tooru throws an alarmed look at Iwaizumi – the heavy metal of military boots is easily identifiable, even if they’re on wood and not the hard ground.

 

The lights slowly flicker on again, likely Bokuto’s work, and Tooru catches sight of the person standing at the main doorway to the stands. Bokuto must recognize him as well, because his arms are now crossed in front of his chest.

 

Tooru’s hands curl into tight fists.

 

Tendou Satori smiles sickeningly as he looks down at Bokuto, armed guards standing vigil on either side of him. The metal of his spear gleams menacingly down at the performer. “Show’s over, folks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. i // Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long(er) wait! I was having some issues with this chapter because it just didn't want to sound right? and then I got so lazy to edit that I was literally copy-pasting into google translate so I wouldn't have to read ^^" So here, have a long(er) chapter instead :))
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support! Enjoy <3

 

Tendou is something like chaos incarnate.

 

Tooru has never seen it personally, of course, what with his aversion to all things bloody and violent, but he _has_ heard the war tales from Iwaizumi and Hanamaki and Matsukawa, lamenting the out-of-control soldier with annoyance clear in their voices. Ignoring orders, and going so far as to do the entire opposite without so much as a warning, the only thing keeping Tendou from any severe punishment are the results he reaps when he _does_ succeed, and his affiliation to the Ushijima Clan.

 

While Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, Matsukawa and the Sugawara heir are (or were, depending) pledged to the Crown, and to some extent the Oikawa dynasty, Tendou is part of the Ushijima Clan’s private forces. They’re one of the most powerful Clans not just because of their deep coffers, but also their ability to train a powerful and cohesive force that is _not_ to be trifled with.

 

So of course, with the Ushijima Clan’s heir as the overseeing Commander for most of the Empire’s exploitations in the past decade or so, Tendou had risen ranks instead of simply being expelled from the military.

 

With this reputation in mind, Tooru isn’t surprised when the first thing the red-haired commander does is cause a panic.

 

The once-packed stands are now draining out as people push and shove to get to the doors, and even the guards themselves are having trouble keeping the turmoil contained. Tendou merely laughs at the sheer amount of disorder and places his hands on his hips; looping one of his arms around the long spear held vigil at his side.

 

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi calls in alarm, already darting over to help.

 

The acrobat vaults over one of the guards with well-practiced ease, bells chiming as he twists in the air and snaps the vulnerable neck below him. Landing and continuing on to face the group of soldiers surrounding Bokuto, Akaashi leaves the dead body to fall to the floor with a dull thump.

 

Tooru swallows at the sight. His mouth has turned dry, and it’s starting to taste like rising bile.

 

“So you didn’t just stop at helping a wanted fugitive get away, you’re keeping him safe in this dingy place!” Tendou leers, leaning up against frail wooden banisters and grinning nastily when he spots Tooru half-hidden behind dusty drapery. The redhead lets out a demented laugh. “Come out, come out and play with me, Oikawa-sama. I’ll be _nice_.”

 

Tooru wishes that the redhead would just fall to his death instead of causing them so much grief. A quick glance at his companions tells him that he’s not the only one thinking it. Iwaizumi’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and it’s only a second after that he speaks up.

 

“Take care of Tooru, Daichi.” At this point, the words can hardly be deduced from the rough grunts that the General is actually expressing, but Tooru really can hardly blame him.

 

Iwaizumi has never been one to stand idly, so it’s not a surprise to Tooru that he unsheathes his sword and charges into the fray with an angry growl. The sight of the General – and his legendary broadsword swinging bright and true – is both awing and nauseating at the same time. Tooru closes his eyes when Iwaizumi’s sword slashes through armour and bright red sprays into the air, but inhaling deeply doesn’t work when all he smells is blood and death.

 

The Prince really doesn’t know if he’s glad or not that Bokuto isn’t using his fire.

 

“Poor, poor Princeling, losing all your fancy silks and pearls for this rat-infested dump,” Tendou’s tone turns taunting when his calls go unanswered. Tooru doesn’t want to let the commander affect him, he really doesn’t, but he can’t help the slight stiffening of his body in response to Tendou’s mocking pity. Immediately, Suga’s hand is wrapped around his wrist; a cold anchor to the reality of the present.

 

Tendou spins his spear in his hand, more frustration permeating his expression as Tooru stubbornly ignores him. It’s something close to pure, childish spite that pushes Tooru to step further into the shadows, and it makes Tendou snarl.

 

“Fine. Have it your way.” The red-haired commander snorts, turning back to his soldiers. “Destroy the whole place! I don’t want a single person alive!”

 

Blatant disrespect for life, and extreme methods no sane person dares to execute. Tooru snatches his hand from Suga in a fit of anger, and has to stifle the urge to scream. He should have known. He’d known about Tendou’s reputation, and just had to push him for no reason. He could’ve- He, he should’ve-

 

Up in the stands, Tendou turns around. His foot is already halfway out of the exit, and the action itself is almost like he’d done it in passing, but the commander still aims a purposeful smile – sincere, and pure, and _happy_ – at the fuming Prince. “Goodbye, little bratty Princeling.”

 

And then Tendou is gone, leaving his soldiers to hack away at the very pillars holding up the Big Top, and Tooru has to swallow down his runaway emotions and _focus_ , because _look_. Look where his selfish, narcissistic self has gotten all of them.

 

The huge tent above them begins quivering – the pillars themselves are half-rotten from rain, and they won’t last long. Tooru runs out of his hiding spot; pulling the sword straight out of a soldier’s hands and delivering a swift, roundhouse kick to his face. “Bokuto! Your fire!”

 

The newly-discovered Horseman turns at the call of his name; eyes wide and much rounder than they ususally are as they land on Tooru. Golden orbs linger on the Prince’s frozen form for a second, before he’s distracted by yet another attacker.

 

Surprised by the obvious reluctance Bokuto is displaying, especially after his incredible display just minutes before, Tooru only has the time to frown before he, as well, is pulled back into the heat of the fight. The Prince dodges the first soldier with a flexible twist of his waist- and then Daichi is there, in front of him, snapping swords like they were made of straw.

 

Tooru turns, back-to-back with the dark-haired man, and his gaze connects with Akaashi’s the same time the sharp glint of a sword flashes in the air.

 

A choked cry escapes the acrobat’s lips as the sword descends on him. It slices cleanly through the skin at his back, fast enough to take advantage of his blind side, and deep enough to draw dark blood from his pale skin. Tooru isn’t the only one who notices this – Bokuto’s fighting twice as hard as he had been previously in a valiant effort to get to Akaashi, but he’s still all the way across the ring.

 

The acrobat hobbles on shaking legs, stunned even as drops of maroon are landing on the floor in large splatters. Behind him, the soldier who had gotten in a lucky swing has his sword raised yet again in an attempt to finish the job.

 

It might be something like a rush of adrenaline, where the blood rushes loudly in your ears and everything slows to a stop, that gives Akaashi one last spurt of energy to turn as he falls; tangling his legs with the soldier’s. The sudden panic and loss of balance weakens the guard’s grip enough for the acrobat to turn the sword on its master, and they fall to the ground heavily – shiny metal sticking out the back of the soldier.

 

It’s at this moment that the first of the three wooden pllars groans, deep and aching, before giving out under the strain of its attackers. Tooru’s eyes drift downwards, and he realises with a sudden jolt that Akaashi is pinned to the ground under the darkening shadow of the falling pillar.

 

“Daichi!” Tooru cries, desperation seeping through the hurried shout- and then many things happen at once.

 

Across the ring, Bokuto freezes in his step. Iwaizumi picks up his slack with a powerful swing of his sword, already used to the disorder that is a battlefield, while Daichi tosses a stolen sword to Tooru. The Prince manages to catch the weapon as it sails towards him, allowing the Horseman through before crouching to slash at the ankles of a pursuing soldier.

 

Daichi _barely_ makes it – the large column of wood groans as it meets the Horseman’s braced arms. Suga rushes in after him, still looking rather frightened to be in the middle of a battle, and pulls the corpse off Akaashi. The acrobat’s eyes have grown wide in shock, and they remain locked onto Daichi’s stout form even as Suga slings his arm around his shoulder and hauls him off the ground. In fact, _everyone’s_ eyes have rounded at the sight before them, and the chaos that once consumed the Ring fizzles out into cold shock.

 

The sound of splintering wood; countless fibers breaking under considerable strain, somehow sets things into motion again- and, as the soldiers turn to flee, and the pillar snaps in half with a great, resounding crack, Bokuto roars. Bokuto _roars_ , feral and not much like any noise a human can make, as he unleashes the fury of a sea of electric blue flame. It dances as it devours, leaving nothing but fading screams and smouldering ash in its wake, and Tooru has to take a step back at the heat that washes against his skin.

 

Bokuto has lost control. Somehow, watching the wild light in Bokuto’s eyes just solidifies the thought, and Tooru’s gaze snaps back to the acrobat lying half-conscious in Suga’s arms.

 

“Bokuto- stop!” Tooru shouts, and he goes up close against the heat even though Iwaizumi’s shouting at him to get away. His voice is hoarse from black smoke, but he needs to be heard. Bokuto _needs_ to hear what Tooru’s saying, or they’ll all be burnt to a crisp. “We saved him! He’s okay, it’s alright. _Akaashi is fine_!”

 

Bokuto must have heard him, because the sudden switch is immediate and absolutely terrifying. He slumps over, silhouette shaking with laboured breaths, and it’s almost as if watching Bokuto unleash his power, only backwards, as the fire around them is sucked back into his palms.

 

The Prince swallows in the sudden quiet, saliva coating the dry cave of his mouth, before turning back to where the others are gathered. “Daichi! Leave that be, get Bokuto out of here. Iwa-chan, help Suga with Akaashi. We have to leave before the tent collapses.”

 

It’s odd, almost surreal, to be commandeering a situation like this. Tooru has never been on the field itself, only ever in planning meetings and war rooms. His heart is still beating a hundred miles per second, and he’s splattered with blood that is not his own. Clenching his hand and tossing away the mangled sword with the other, the Prince follows his companions out of the tent.

 

It’s one thing to be moving pieces across a chessboard, and it’s another thing altogether to be one of the pieces themselves. Especially so, if the players alongside him are infinitely more powerful – and infinitely more volatile – than the average man.

 

Once they’ve made it to the forest, Iwaizumi comes to stand by Tooru; bumping his arm against the Prince’s in a way of asking if he’s alright. Tooru watches Bokuto slump against a tree trunk, his eyes somehow both too vacant and too crowded, and can only offer the General a weak upquirk of the lips.

 

It’s a little muted with distance, but the cracking sound of the Big Top’s pillars snapping still shoots through the air like thunder; pulling Tooru’s gaze back to the ruins of a once-great structure.

 

 _War; of destructive spread_.

 

It seems as though the Horsemen – _his_ Horsemen – are living up to, and even exceeding their prophesied monikers. Tooru watches bright red flags flutter in a graceless fall, and he wonders if this actually is a good thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. i // Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: I changed some of the chapter titles! and also, I'm flying to Japan next week so I'll be updating this story on Tuesday, if I can make it ^^"
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

Winter arrives with shorter days and colder winds, and it declares to be there to stay when the first snow falls and covers the land in a blanket of white.

 

“No, that’s the Ushijima Clan, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s normally monotonous tone is tinged with something like amusement. “It’s the Terushima Family that’s the leader of the Empire’s Southern Clans.”

 

Beside him, Bokuto pulls at his salt-and-pepper hair in frustration, and almost falls off the log he’s sitting on. Tooru has been teaching the two Southernlanders about the Empire’s political landscape for the past few months, but it’s a rather dry topic, and Bokuto, in particular, is having problems with remembering everything.

 

The two newcomers are as different as night and day. While Bokuto alternates between moods of extremes, Akaashi’s range of expressions is limited to a scarce few at best. As a pair, they balance each other out like Yin and Yang – a philosopher’s take on the balance of the world, and how easily it could be to throw everything off tandem.

 

And it would definitely be easy indeed. Tooru has always prided himself in being a good judge and handler of human character, but Bokuto is one step past even his own sphere of patience. Akaashi is the only one who can properly understand and care for him – for now, at least. The Prince is still working on it.

 

One of the things in particular that has Tooru stumped is Bokuto’s apparent illiteracy.

 

The pyromancer very frequently commits novice-level mistakes, like pronouncing words with a misplaced vowel, and Tooru notices his attention drifting away easily when Iwaizumi is going over the plans for the day – which, of course, does _not_ help him at all. Having been a performer in a circus, Bokuto must not have required the skills of reading and writing, and his playful personality must have made it even harder to learn when he was young.

 

Tooru shuffles his feet around in the snow, wrapping his fur coat tighter around his frame when a particularly chilly gust of wind blows past them.

 

They’re all blessed that Suga had the foresight to skin the larger hunt for coats, because they might not have survived this long without them. Even if they try their best to find caves to take shelter in for the night, the snowfall seems more brutal this year; at least compared to the milder Winters back in the Palace.

 

Sewing the pelts together had been tedious, however, and Suga dedicated all of his time to completing the full set of coats by first snow – even if Bokuto might not seem to require his. Akaashi had volunteered to help, seeing as no one else seemed to know how to sew, but he ended up taking more than twice the amount of time Suga had just sewing two pelts together, and pricking himself a few too many times on the way.

 

What was most bewildering in that situation was that Bokuto – clumsy, brash, hulking _Bokuto_ – had taken the needle and thread away from a quietly fuming Akaashi, only to display a skill similar to that of the grey-haired attendant. The acrobat tried taking over Suga’s cooking duty after that terrible attempt, and ended up giving poor Daichi, out of all people, food poisoning. Not to mention how awful it tasted.

 

Akaashi had henceforth been banned from anything that is not hunting and skinning animals – which is something he’s actually really good at, oddly enough. While working together with Bokuto, they’re unstoppable at tracking down and killing animals for food.

 

Daichi throws down a pile of twigs in the middle of their small circle of logs. Opening his palm like a flower blossoming in the Spring, the little flame sitting on Bokuto’s palm drips onto the wood and ignites their campfire.

 

The pyromancer turns back to the acrobat seated by him, a small satchel of Suga’s healing cream in his hand. Akaashi’s back wound has already scarred over – Suga definitely made sure he would recover, although he couldn’t do anything about the ugly mark it left behind. Instead, Bokuto dips his fingers into the viscous substance and waits for an almost imperceptible nod from the acrobat, before smearing it, gently, onto the irritated skin on Akaashi’s face.

 

While Bokuto’s natural tan fades to a darker caramel under the harsh, uninterrupted rays of Winter sun, Akaashi’s lighter, olive skin burns red and starts peeling in what looks like an extremely painful manner – which, of course, had been a warning sign to Tooru since the autumn leaves had fallen and they were all exposed and without shade.

 

Bokuto and Akaashi are Southernlanders. Their Kingdom is one of deserts and eternal summers.

 

It doesn’t make sense for Akaashi to freckle and burn – it doesn’t make sense for him to have been pale-skinned, in the first place.

 

“Bokuto, Akaashi- I’ve been wondering this for some time,” Tooru begins, even before he realises it himself. “How did the two of you meet?”

 

“Oh yes!” Suga nods, from where he’s dropping the last pieces of carrot into their bubbling stew. “I’ve always wondered that too, but you don’t have to tell us yet if you don’t want to. Don’t feel pressured by Mr. High-and-Mighty over there!”

 

Tooru aims a pout straight at his friend, but doesn’t miss when Akaashi and Bokuto exchange an indecipherable glance.

 

“What’s going on?” Having heard the commotion, Iwaizumi and Daichi walk over to join them. The latter lets out a quiet huff as he settles on the log next to Suga.

 

“Is it… okay?” Bokuto suddenly looks unsure of himself, and he turns to stare questioningly at the acrobat sitting beside him; almost like he were asking for permission. Tooru has to remind himself that it is actually Bokuto, not Akaashi, who is older.

 

Akaashi inhales deeply, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before relenting. “Bokuto and I are originally from the Southernlands. Back there, our entire social system is almost entirely different from the Empire’s. You have slaves and merchants and nobles, while we have castes. They’re… very _rigid_ social classes. The sultan – our King – and his family are at the very top, and there are many castes between them and the lowest of all – the Undesirables.”

 

“There’s really little social mobility outside of marriage.” Bokuto shrugs, although it seems the talk of castes and the like affects him more than it does Akaashi. “But even that is hard, because people of different castes are forbidden to speak to each other – not that people even want to be seen with someone of a lower caste.”

 

Daichi nods at this, and the log beneath Tooru creaks when Iwaizumi leans forward to check on their dinner. “I’ve been to the Southernlands once, and the people are divided like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Generally speaking, darker skin is associated with jobs like farming and building – low-end jobs that require working under the sun. Most of the Southernlanders who dare to brave the desert between them and the Empire are ones of lower caste, with the darker skin.”

 

“Then…” Suga’s eyes are wide as he looks at Akaashi, Bokuto, and the contrast of their skin. “Doesn’t that mean…?”

 

“Akaashi’s family took me in when I was orphaned and alone on the streets,” Bokuto says with a tiny shrug. Gently, Akaashi rests his hand on top of Bokuto’s. “No one wanted to help an Undesirable child – we have no worth in our world – but the Akaashi family did. I was made to help around in the house, with the other servants, and they told me that the Akaashi family was- well, the equivalent of an important noble, in terms of caste. They had many children, from a few wives, but they were all pale and beautiful. Unlike me.”

 

Akaashi looks like he wants to interject, but Bokuto just shakes his head. It seems like they’ve had this conversation a few times before.

 

“There was this one child, the youngest of the lot. He had hair the shade of night, and eyes like pools of emerald, and he was always so very quiet.” Bokuto continues, and this time, he’s smiling as he looks at the acrobat next to him. “He would always sneak down to the kitchens to read books, when his siblings were in their dance lessons, or even when they would be playing, and it’s really how we became such good friends.”

 

“You would make me snacks when I was hungry,” Akaashi’s lips are tipped upwards at the sides, and his eyes shine with fond memories. “And sew up the clothes I got holes in while playing with my brothers. My mother got _so_ angry when she heard me calling you Bokuto- _san_.”

 

“But then,” Iwaizumi says, brow furrowed. Turning away from each other, Bokuto and Akaashi regard the General with questioning eyes. “How did you end up in a circus, of all places?”

 

“Well… my family was well-to-do, so most of my elder siblings had already been married off to others of similar standing, or were promised to be. I wasn’t – until we were visited by the Royal Princes.” It’s Akaashi’s turn to look uncomfortable. The fire under their stew flares out for just a moment. “It was the First Prince. He was… _intrigued_ , and wanted me as a part of his harem. My parents couldn’t defy him. We weren’t even expecting a visit from the _Royal Family_. There was no choice but to leave.”

 

“…And Bokuto went with you! That’s so sweet!” Suga is almost to the point of _coo_ -ing at the pair, now, and it’s to everyone’s surprise that Akaashi’s now permanent flush glows just that bit darker in response.

 

_There was no choice but to leave_. Tooru thinks, and looks at Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye. It would be nice to do just that and forsake the mess of the Empire and Ushijima Wakatoshi, but the General would definitely chastise Tooru for being a selfish idiot.

 

Not to mention how the Prophecy would chase them down, regardless.

 

It’s only later on, when the night has set in and it’s close to pitch black outside, that Tooru ventures out of their warm cave in search of Bokuto and Akaashi. They’d left a little while back, as they do every night after dinner, but have yet to return.

 

The Prince finds them huddled together in the snow, hidden on the slope of the bank of a frozen river. They’re so close that their legs and arms are intertwined, and Tooru feels an odd mix of surprise and understanding when he sees the white of their breath mingle in the frosty air.

 

Tooru turns to return to the cave when Bokuto leans in and touches his lips to Akaashi’s, feeling a little like his entire world has been shaken and left in a position not exactly the same as before. He’s been observing them, trying to understand them, but for some inexplicable reason, the Prince has missed out entirely, how Bokuto and Akaashi’s friendship isn’t even a friendship at all.

 

Returning to the cave doesn’t do him any good, either, because the first thing he does is pick out Iwaizumi amongst the furs, and go… _oh_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I decided to include this small character detail, but Oikawa is wrong, and Bokuto has dyslexia.


	16. i // Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be at the airport in like 4 hours lmao BUT I MADE IT! almost forgot to update at all but yes, here it is! I should be back with the next chapter later next week :)
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

“What is it? What is it?” Tooru asks as Suga pulls him away from their camp for the night and further into the forest.

 

Over the snowy hill, the sun is slowly rising in the East. The spindly, naked trees around them cast long shadows in the early blue of the morning, and they shiver and tremble as the cold winds blow strong.

 

“Here.” Suga grins back at him, pulling out a small package from his sleeves. It’s oddly shaped and wrapped in cloth, and he places it on Tooru’s palm gingerly; fingers cold as they brush against his skin. Tooru looks back up, into Suga’s warm, brown eyes, and sees only sincerity in them. “I want you to have this.”

 

The prince unwraps his gift with tentative fingers; drawing cloth away from a brown leather bag, and then unlatching the simply made cover.

 

“It’s a dagger,” Suga continues, the harsh edges of his grin softening into a fond smile as he watches Tooru pull out the small weapon from its pouch. The handle is of modest wood, with twine for the grip, but the blade itself shines in the soft morning light. Tooru can almost see the blood tainting the pure, stainless metal. “I know you don’t like spilling blood, my Prince, but we’re not in the Palace anymore. You need to be able to protect yourself when Iwaizumi, or the others can’t, and- well, it’s my way of trying to keep you safe, as well. Gods know you’d be able to use it better than I can.”

 

Tooru looks up from inspecting the dagger resting in his palm. “Suga-chan, you…”

 

“Please accept it, my Lord,” Suga falls into a graceful bow; the end of his blue robes darkening where they pool on the snow. It’s the acceptable behaviour for a noble offering a gift to Royalty, but something about seeing one of his closest friends bowing to him bothers Tooru more than it ever did before. “It would… really mean a lot to me.”

 

Pushing down any unwanted feelings, Tooru just slips the dagger back into its pouch and smiles down at the grey-haired boy. “Thank you for the gift, Suga-chan, please get up.”

 

There is gratitude in Suga’s gaze, and Tooru has to avert his eyes. The Prince himself doesn’t really understand why it’s come to embarrassment and outright discomfort when his Royal title is so blatantly displayed for all to see, especially in recent times. He doesn’t understand it at all.

 

In the end, it’s a combination of the loud, urgent hoots ringing through the trees and Tooru’s own reflexes that save him from certain death.

 

The arrow whizzes past where Tooru had been just a second before; planting itself deep in the bark of a tree when it misses its mark. Startled, Suga crouches low to the ground. He quickly seeks out Tooru, where he has thrown himself in the snow, and his cold hands grip at the Prince’s arms bruisingly.

 

“Oh dear, it seems we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

 

Tooru’s head whips around at the entry of the unidentified voice. They’re surrounded on all sides by forest. The trees are covered in white from fresh snowfall, and the thin branches that stretch out into the sky don’t provide any cover – the Prince can’t identify where the voice is coming from, and he only feels more unbalanced the more he tries to locate anything amongst the confusing mess of trunks and branches.

 

A small shadow sweeps across the ground, and the two of them look up to see Kouji’s salt-and-pepper wings spread wide in flight. The owl is circling overhead, like a beacon leading the others to them. A rush of hope flares within Tooru’s chest. The others are on the way – they’ll be saved!

 

“Shoot down the bird.”

 

Tooru turns cold at the order, like he’d been drenched with a bucket of snow. It seeps into his skin and all the way to his bones as he watches the arrows take flight; cutting through the air as they head right into Kouji’s flight path. The owl dodges both arrows with skill and precision not befitting a bird of its stature – watching Kouji fold in his wings and twirl in the sky, the Prince once again applauds Bokuto and Akaashi for outdoing themselves yet again.

 

“Show yourselves!” Tooru shouts, before the unknown voice can issue another order. He scans the trees with narrowed eyes. “Hiding out of sight and targeting animals? What kind of cowards are you?”

 

There is a pause, and the trees rustle when a particularly strong breeze blows past.

 

“What a witty Prince indeed.” The voice sounds amused. “You can call us cowards all you want, but it’s more something I’d like to call _smart_.”

 

They know Tooru’s identity. Exchanging a wary look with Suga, the Prince clenches his hand into a fist. They’ve obviously not normal bandits. “Who sent you? What do you want?”

 

Two men step out from the trees – they’re dressed in full black, from their toes to their heads. The only thing Tooru can make out is their eyes. As they approach, drawing curved, fang-like swords the Prince has never seen before, Suga pulls him back into his chest protectively.

 

“You’re a wanted fugitive, Prince-san,” The voice continues, still hidden and unidentifiable save for the easy taunt in his tone. “I don’t know exactly how much the bounty is anymore, but it was… a pretty sum when we left to track you down.”

 

Tooru snarls when one of the masked men make to grab him. “ _Ushijima_.”

 

There is no answer from the voice, no acknowledgment, but the Prince is sure. The Ushijima family – no, Ushijima Wakatoshi. He’s the only one who’s desperate enough to put up a bounty for him.

 

Tooru is the only one who still contests the Ushijima heir’s rule, after all. Not to mention how both Iwaizumi and Tooru are both too aware of his lies and treachery.

 

“We need _you_ , Prince-san,” the voice sighs, almost regretfully, “but we don’t need the other one. Kill him.”

 

Immediately, two more masked men melt out from the shadows. They’re too fast for Tooru to react, pulling Suga away from him and forcing the grey-haired boy face-down onto the ground.

 

“You-” Tooru growls. He’s on his feet, wary of the masked men slowly closing in on him, yet keeping Suga in his peripheral. Suga winces in pain when his captor’s grip tightens to still his struggling, and the sharp glint of a sword being unsheathed has the Prince’s hands darting toward the dagger hidden in his robes.

 

Up above, Kouji _screeches_ – a jarring sound almost like metal scraping on metal, something that Tooru has never heard the owl utter before – and dives; sharp claws digging into the scalp of the man holding onto Suga. It’s the same time a dark shadow, one that is not their enemy, breaks from the treeline and tackles the other man with the sword.

 

It figures that Akaashi is the fastest amongst all of them.

 

A loud “Hey, hey, hey!” announces Bokuto’s arrival as he bounces into the fight. Spotting the cornered Prince, the pyromancer yells, “Duck!”

 

Tooru flattens himself onto the ground the same time Bokuto releases his powers, feeling heat lick at his cheeks as the fire blooms from the Horseman’s palms. The raging orange flames devour the two masked men so fast they can only scream in agony before being reduced into glowing piles of ash.

 

Iwaizumi and Daichi emerge soon after, the former making quick work of the masked man still struggling with Kouji. The General’s sword swings sharp and true, and the owl hoots in thanks when the decapitated head falls to the snow with a dull thump. Nodding at Tooru, who’s being helped to his feet by an excited Bokuto, Iwaizumi turns his attention to the last masked man.

 

Tooru finds a mixture of annoyance and relief in himself when he realises that the haughty voice from before, likely the leader of the attack, has disappeared.

 

“Who do you work for?” Iwaizumi growls, hand pulling the masked man’s jaw towards him. Akaashi has him forced into a kneel, arms twisted painfully behind his back to immobilize him. “Answer!”

 

Tooru rakes his eyes over Suga’s body as the attendant is helped to his feet by a worried Daichi, and finds his shoulders deflating. Suga is fine. He’s alright – they’re all alright.

 

“Go to hell!” The masked man spits in reply, grinning before biting down on something in his mouth. Both Akaashi and Iwaizumi back away when the masked man’s body starts shaking; white froth leaking out the sides of his mouth and running down the length of his neck.

 

A moment more, and the man is dead.

 

Iwaizumi sighs with repressed anger, flicking his long sword to the side before sheathing it. The blood lands on the ground in splatters and dyes the snow pink. Tooru’s hair brushes against his frosty cheeks as Kouji flies by and perches on Bokuto’s shoulder.

 

“It’s pretty normal.”

 

All of their heads swivel around at the entrance of an unknown voice – one different from before. This one isn’t so gloating and is deeper in pitch.

 

A group of people, mostly young males, approach them warily. They’re all armed, and are dressed in furs in varying shades of brown. It’s the man standing at the front of the group who is addressing them.

 

“The snakes drop like flies, if you ask me,” The man grins, a Cheshire smile materializing from the shadows. “Something about the poison in their fangs.”

 

Iwaizumi grunts a little and takes a few steps closer to the new arrivals. He’s an intimidating man, especially with that sword at his side, and the boys shift their weight from foot to foot nervously. The leader, on the other hand, doesn’t seem at all fazed.

 

“Who are you?” Tooru speaks up, and the attention is drawn to him. The leader’s eyes are as gold as Bokuto’s, but the narrow, almond shape of them makes him seem colder and sharper. “How do you know who attacked us?”

 

“The curve of their swords.” The leader barks out a chilling laugh as he runs a hand through messy, ink-black hair. “But the better question here would be who _you_ are.”

 

Tooru raises a brow in question.

 

“It’s not any old person who attracts the attention of an infamous assassins’ guild, after all, and not any old person indeed when you actually _survive_.” The leader’s smile turns crooked, and his eyes stray to the piles of ash on the ground. “Now tell me. What did you do, for those Snakes to be tailing you like mad men on a mission?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses? ;)


	17. i // Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added some tags so do go have a look at them again (gave in to some of your requests lmao) :) Just a reminder that there IS major character death in this story!
> 
> Thank you for the amazing comments!! Enjoy <3

 

Oikawa Tooru is many things – the Crown Prince of an Empire steeped in bloodshed and betrayal, the prophesied spearhead of certain apocalypse, and also, an excellent liar.

 

“I was the son of a rich noble.” Tooru begins, keeping his gaze locked on the leader’s scrutinizing golden eyes. The best lies are the ones closest to the truth. “My father passed at an inconvenient time, and it led to our family’s wealth being stolen by people we once thought were family. I’ve been wandering around the Empire for a while, now, with good companions, but it seems they’re still trying to hunt me down. Your… snake friends are just collateral in our war.”

 

“They’re not _friends_.” The leader almost hisses the last word, as if repulsed by what Tooru is suggesting. Not on good terms, then. Not on good terms at all. “Nohebi is a guild whose leader has no care for his men – as you’ve probably realised. They’re all originally slave children, anyway. Easily replaceable.”

 

Tooru raises his brows in surprise. It’s an exceedingly vehement reply for an offhanded remark, and it seems the leader realises it as well. The Prince exchanges a look with Iwaizumi, gaze traveling over all his companions before returning to the leader standing in front of him

 

Eloquent and very capable of Tooru’s particular brand of verbal sparring, this dark-haired man is definitely smart. Cunning, even. Looking at the glint in the other’s eyes, the Prince can hazard a guess that he’s like the personification of oil – dark and slippery, yet highly dangerous under the right circumstances.

 

Tooru swallows, smiles, and spreads his hands. “I expect they’ll be back, but we have nowhere to go. Would you be so kind as to help us?”

 

The pause that ensues is one of the most uncomfortable ones in Tooru’s experience. He’s used to people accepting friendship on his terms – no one could fathom even attempting to turn down the Prince of the Empire, after all. This, however, _this_ is something new, and unexpected, and risky. They need this mysterious group’s help, if they’ve had experience with the assassin guild they call Nohebi.

 

They’ll be going in blind and without shelter if they’re turned down.

 

“Two nights.” The leader huffs, a little reluctantly, and Tooru brightens. “Our village is hidden on the banks of a nearby lake. If what you say is true, then Nohebi won’t give up on you that easily, and you won’t lose them completely. All I can offer is a headstart.” He exchanges a look with the boy next to him, the one with the kind features and the shaved head. “We don’t have enough food to last the winter as it is.”

 

Tooru’s smile widens, glancing back towards his companions. “No worries. My friends are rather proficient hunters, if I may say so myself. We’ll pay you back with game.”

 

“That’s a really bold statement to make, especially in the dead of winter.” The leader retorts, teasing without heat. There is real curiosity in his question, one of the only genuine emotions he’s allowing them to pick up on – they must really be short of food. He walks forward, sheathing a pair of curved swords into the leather scabbards on his back. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou, the chief.”

 

Tooru walks forward, and grasps Kuroo’s forearm in the customary greeting between partners-in-arms. He smiles bright, and fake. “Oyama Tooru.”

 

There is familiarity of the terrain in their new companions’ steps, easily leading Tooru and the others through the snowy landscape. While traveling at a rather unforgiving pace, it becomes clear to the Prince that the group of fit, young men are Kuroo’s hunters, and are likely the only ones in the village who are able to handle arms.

 

A reasonable number for them to deal with, should anything happen.

 

“Lake Nekoma,” Suga whispers to Tooru. He gestures to the distance, where a glimmer of light is the only thing they can currently make out of the frozen body of water. They’re walking side-by-side in the deepening snow, Iwaizumi and Daichi in front of them while Akaashi and Bokuto take up the rear. Two of Kuroo’s men hang back, dragging branches over the deep footprints they leave behind in previously untouched snow. “It’s directly to the East of the capital.”

 

Tooru nods, glancing back at a grumbling Bokuto. Kouji has fallen asleep on his shoulder.

 

Bokuto and Daichi are both aware that the matching birthmarks on their bodies and the otherworldly powers they possess have something to do with a prophecy about Tooru and the Empire. Only… he’s just neglected to tell them that their presence might lead to some apocalypse.

 

The Prince needs to find out what everything truly means before he risks their panic and loses them forever, and one of those things is the Prophecy’s emphasis on direction – or more exactly, sunset and sunrise.

 

 _Night will fall, where his Four Horsemen tread._ _Look to the Red Dawn_.

 

At first, Tooru believed it could have something to do with the Apocalypse itself; where Night and Dawn could somehow be related to an end and a beginning. With the Four Horsemen gathered, they could potentially wreak irreparable damage on the Empire. From what Tooru has seen of the first two, it definitely wouldn’t be hard, either. So it would make sense for the next era to be one starting from bloodshed.

 

Suga has a different idea.

 

The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. Since leaving the Imperial Palace, which is located on the West side of the Empire’s central states, they have been brought back onto a path towards the East every time a Horseman comes into play. They headed South, escaping through the Southern Servants’ Gate on the day Ushijima took the throne, yet were followed by palace guards and forced North-East, up a mountain, where they were saved by Daichi. Their plans to head further North, away from Ushijima’s sphere of influence, had been interrupted by a short supply run to the east-lying Trade Town – where Tooru had literally run into Bokuto.

 

Suga is almost certain that the next Horseman is nearby, now that they’re being led to a lake that is almost exactly to the East of the Palace. It’s definitely a clear pattern, Tooru can see that himself.

 

The Prince just hopes that it isn’t that snake assassin from before. He can understand Kuroo’s dislike for the slippery man easily enough.

 

“This is the den,” Kuroo says, a little louder than usual so that his voice carries backwards. He’s stopped at what looks like a cliff, at first glance, but a quick peek down the steep drop reveals the snowy roofs of a small village; and the furred silhouettes of villagers walking about on shoveled pathways. There are about fifteen to twenty houses, and a few smaller sheds, all made from wood of the same kind as the trees in the surrounding forest. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

 

They’re led down a set of stairs cut into the side of the cliff – a bank, apparently, from when the water had been at high tide. Kuroo explains that they have made a small dam, like the ones beavers nest in, for when the Spring comes and the lake floods. Daichi’s eyebrows rise in the way they do when he’s impressed.

 

“Kuroo-san!”

 

A tiny, silver-haired boy comes running in their direction. He’s pale like the snow around them, and his eyes are a shimmering green that is almost luminous in the light. While Akaashi’s eyes are more subtle in their beauty, this one’s call out for attention.

 

“Lev!” Kuroo replies in surprise, crouching down to lift the little boy by the sides. Lev giggles when the chief lifts him high into the sky, above the birds' nest that is his hair, before setting him down on his shoulders. Tooru winces _for_ Kuroo when Lev pulls at the messy, dark strands without restraint. “Where’s Morisuke?”

 

The little boy sticks out his tongue, grimacing as a call of his name resounds through the vicinity. A man rounds the corner soon after, hands linked with a boy even smaller than Lev. He’s shorter than Suga and slighter in build, with closely-cropped brown hair and eyes of a lighter amber shade.

 

“Kuroo!” The new arrival starts at the rather large group outside his hut, scanning over all of them before his gaze returns to the dark-haired man in the lead. “You’re back early.”

 

The chief nods in reply, pulling Lev off his shoulder and ruffling the other little boy’s hair. Immediately, the silver-haired boy is bombarding them with questions; jumping up and down in excitement at the new additions to his village.

 

It doesn’t distract Tooru from where Kuroo is talking to his second-in-command, or, for that matter, the worried frowns they share at the mention of Nohebi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. i // Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoho you guys really seemed to enjoy the last chapter :) 
> 
> Thanks for the support <3 Enjoy!!

 

“Tea?”

 

Tooru looks up from where he’s seated on the wooden floor and smiles warmly when he sees Yaku approaching with a steaming kettle. “Yes, please.”

 

Kuroo introduced them to one Yaku Morisuke the day before. The second-in-command in the village and Kuroo’s partner to boot, the shorter man had been pleasant, although blunt in the way that Kuroo is not. It’s why Tooru believes him to be of a more genuine and straightforward nature.

 

“Careful, it’s hot.” Yaku blows on the top of the small cup before handing it over to the Prince. Heeding his advice, Tooru settles on warming his hands with the drink and turns his gaze back towards where Iwaizumi is giving Lev and Kenma – the other little boy, with shoulder-length black hair – rides on his shoulders.

 

Bokuto and Akaashi are out in the forest, leading Kuroo and a small pack of his men on a hunting trip. They have never returned empty-handed before, and Tooru believes it will not be any different this time – regardless of how barren Kuroo claims the woods around the Den have become in the Winter. Daichi is helping the villagers reinforce their dam with large logs while Suga warms stew with some of the village cooks, leaving Iwaizumi and Tooru to spend their time in Kuroo and Yaku’s hut.

 

“You must have impressed Kuroo yesterday,” Yaku murmurs as he settles next to Tooru. The Prince turns, curiosity arching his brow. “He’s never offered to help anyone this way before, especially not someone of noble upbringing.”

 

Tooru laughs, and sips his tea. “I’ve been told it’s quite obvious – that I act differently, or something along those lines. Even Bokuto saw right through me.”

 

“Something along those lines,” Yaku chuckles indulgently in agreement. “There’s just an aura of sorts. Confidence, maybe? No. It’s more self-assurance.”

 

Tooru hums under his breath. Being brought up like he has really does strengthen any natural, childish feelings of self-entitlement. He talks about getting the throne back like he’d already owned it before and demands complete loyalty from the people around him as though he deserves the world from them, even though all he’s offered to them in return are flimsy promises.

 

By far the worst thing about it is that none of the others _mind_. They’re content to serve him and protect him, act as his sword and shield in times of danger, and it’s all because he’s Royalty, and that’s what they think they’re meant to do.

 

“Yes, I can tell why Kuroo-san- or anyone, honestly, wouldn’t like a child born from nobles,” Tooru says as he places his empty cup down, beside his hip. Licking his lips, the Prince twists his torso so that he’s facing the shorter man. “Do know that I _am_ very thankful for your help. I know that it must endanger your peaceful lives, and it means a lot to me, that my companions are safer than they would be in the open. They’ve been protecting me for so long, I’m just glad I could have been of some help in return.”

 

Yaku freezes for a moment as he registers the words. They’re filled with sincerity and truth; which is something he’d not sensed from this particular guest since his arrival. Kuroo had picked up on it too – the others had spoken sparsely or without importance, but their leader is different. It’s like he hides behind a veil too thin to be a mask and too thick for there not to be one, as if he is both true and false at the same time.

 

“I think I understand now,” Yaku feels a small smile pulling at the edges of his lips. _Interesting_. “Why Kuroo decided to help.”

 

“Does he hate the noble class?” Tooru asks, turning his attention back to Iwaizumi and the two children. It’s quite a candid question for someone like him, but his interest had been piqued the day before. “Kuroo-san… reacted quite badly to the mention of slaves.”

 

Yaku sighs deeply, linking drooping sleeves together in an effort to warm up his cold hands. “It is not my place to talk about Kuroo, but you should already have guessed that he is adverse to the idea of slavery. He believes its core to be corrupted.”

 

“Of course.” Tooru nods seriously. He remembers finding out about slavery, about all the things that had been going on outside of the Palace, and he remembers feeling that terrible, crushing guilt for not knowing– not protecting the people of his country. “It’s a horrible trade. Treating another human being like they are nothing but a possession is inhumane.”

 

“It’s rather surprising that someone of high birth would think that way.” Yaku’s reply is accompanied by a contemplative look. “Slaves bring the nobles much wealth and prosperity, after all. The nobles’ influence is the majority of the reason why slavery is still widely practiced here in the Empire.”

 

Tooru scoffs a little under his breath, eyes narrowing unconsciously even as he attempts to anchor his attention to where the two children – well, mostly Lev – are hurling snowballs at Iwaizumi. It’s very hard not to think back to his years at court, witnessing the debased acts of the members of council and their struggles for power. “The corruption in this Kingdom is out of control, and the first step to getting rid of it is destroying the ones most responsible for it first.”

 

“You talk like you actually have the power to do that.” Yaku snorts a little, leaning back on his hands. Unlike Tooru, his legs dangle off the side of the elevated flooring, but the Prince knows better than to comment on it.

 

“Take that, Iwaizumi-san!” Lev shouts, launching himself at the much bulkier man. Not expecting the sudden attack, Iwaizumi chokes a little when Lev’s arms circle around his throat, hands flying up to steady the little boy hanging off his back.

 

“Lev! Be careful!” Yaku chastises, straightening from his relaxed slouch with a frown. He looks about ready to dart forward, but the worry in his eyes is more pronounced than any anger.

 

“Don’t worry, Yaku-san, Iwa-chan is really strong,” Tooru interjects with a small laugh, gesturing to how Iwaizumi is expertly manoeuvring his body to accommodate the new, wriggling weight on his back. The general even offers a strong forearm to Kenma, who clings to it and lets out a tiny giggle when Iwaizumi raises him into the air. “Not as strong as Dai-chan, of course, but still very strong.”

 

“He has to be, if he’s been swinging around that beast of a sword.” Yaku agrees, reaching for his pot. He pours out tea for himself, and Tooru nods his head in thanks when the other man fills his cup as well. “It’s quite regretful that we can’t help you out more. Nohebi is a menace to the world, a poison that should have long been rid of.”

 

“Oh no, we can’t impose any more than we already have,” Tooru shakes his head, blowing on the surface of his drink. He pauses, allowing the two children’s delighted shrieks to permeate the air. “What is this Nohebi, exactly? I have heard very little of it, and the only certain thing I can say is that they are assassins-for-hire.”

 

Yaku hums lowly, his gaze a distance away. “Most are slave children, bought from their masters to train as assassins from young. Over the years, they’re brainwashed and formed into the perfect mold of an agent of Nohebi – which is to say, not a singular person but a whole. It’s why they don’t even hesitate before killing themselves when they’re caught.”

 

“Ah,” Tooru nods, sipping at his drink. “Any specialties? In terms of their fighting style? It would be good to have at least a small advantage when we return to our journey.”

 

“They’re called snakes for a reason, I suppose,” Yaku says, shrugging a little. The wrinkle in his brow is deep. “Their swords are always the same kind – curved, and kind of like fangs. It’s normally how you differentiate the Nohebi assassins from other guilds’. Oh! And you have to remember that they’re assassins. They’re _not_ fighters. They’re _killers_ , and they always aim to do so in one stroke. All their weapons are dipped in poison of the highest caliber.”

 

It’s Tooru’s turn to frown.

 

If they’re following the pattern that has held true so far, then the next Horseman they’ll find is _Famine; of Poisonous Touch_.

 

The frequent mentions of poison when it comes to Nohebi can’t be a coincidence, can it? An Assassin's Guild deeply involved with fatal toxins can’t be common after all. But Yaku calls them corruption personified, regards them like a venomous parasite clinging onto the Empire like a fat leech.

 

Tooru still shudders remembering the slimy voice from the day before. The leader of the Nohebi assassins had remained hidden the entire duration of the ambush, and had disappeared the moment his assassins had been dealt with; leaving a comrade behind without so much as another word.

 

Could he be Famine?

 

And if he is, then- what will Tooru _do_?

 

The Prince is drawn out of his thoughts as a loud, familiar call rings through the Den. _Bokuto_. They must have returned from their hunting trip.

 

Yaku hops off his perch and leads them towards the Village center, where a small crowd has gathered around the hunters. The general consensus seems to be one of awe and appreciation, and it makes sense once Tooru catches sight of the giant bear lying slaughtered on the ground.

 

“Ohoho, wish you’d had more faith in me, don’t ya?” Bokuto teases, sticking out his tongue at Kuroo – who honestly looks like he’s in a very good mood, regardless of the ribbing.

 

The chief doesn’t give in to Bokuto; crossing his arms over his chest instead. “Well. I guess we could’ve done better.”

 

Bokuto’s jaw drops open, and his features contort in disbelief. Watching on as Kuroo starts sniggering into his palm, Akaashi allows the smallest sliver of a smile to twist at his lips.

 

One more day, Tooru thinks. They have one more day in the Den before they’ll be back on their journey – a journey leading them down unknown roads, to never-before-seen places.

 

He hopes that Famine will show himself soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. i // Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quicker update this time round cos I had a little time to write :) Also, I'll be flying off again next week so the next update should be on monday!
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3

 

It might be some sort of twisted fate that has Tooru waking up to the loud ringing of bells, and a worried General by his side.

 

“What’s going on?” The Prince demands, feet on the floor as he reaches for his robes. There’s shouting accompanying the alarms, now, but it’s faint. While Kuroo and Yaku practically live in the centre of the village, Tooru and his companions’ little guest house is standing a little more isolated, at the edge of the Den.

 

With the door to Tooru’s room closed, Iwaizumi is free to fall onto his knee to report. “Nohebi has found us. It’s uncharacteristic, but they’ve started attacking the Den in full force.”

 

The Prince’s hands falter while tying the sash around his waist – he’s become much better at dressing himself while on the road, but the shock of Iwaizumi’s news has him stumbling. “A full-out attack on a village of hunters is a pretty rash decision, don’t you think? Especially when they’re assassins trained to work in the shadows.”

 

“…Yes.” Iwaizumi replies, standing up to follow Tooru out of the room. Before either of them can make it past the small common room, the General reaches out to lay a heavy hand on his Prince’s shoulder. “I have sent Akaashi, Bokuto, and Daichi to help. Suga is standing by with most of the children. Please, my Prince, go to Suga-”

 

“No!” Tooru retorts, appalled at what his best friend is suggesting. Unconsciously, the brunette reaches down into the hidden compartment in his sleeve and touches Suga’s gift. “How dare you insinuate that I would hide in a corner when I can clearly defend myself? These people helped us, and I’ll be damned if I simply run away in their time of need.”

 

Iwaizumi growls a little under his breath, fists clenching at his sides, but his shoulders slacken and he doesn’t make to stop the willful Prince from leaving. Instead, he sighs and follows behind Tooru faithfully. “As you wish, my Lord.”

 

It’s a clear day, the snow beneath their feet pristine and fresh, so it’s easy to spot the dark smoke rising from the centre of the village. Tooru ignores how the frosty wind numbs his cheeks in favour of heading further into the mass of houses, eyes narrowing as hs spots a few dark-clothed figures darting amongst the rooftops.

 

Akaashi is there in an instant.

 

The acrobat swings up onto the roof with a quick flip, and then he’s fighting – precise, graceful and utterly ruthless. It’s hand-to-hand combat without any hesitation, and it’s good Akaashi is so good at what he does. A single scratch from the snakes’ poisoned fangs will likely kill him.

 

The unarmed are running in the opposite direction; and it’s then, when they breach the first layer of ransacked houses, that Tooru pulls out his dagger and wields it with white knuckles. Iwaizumi draws his sword as well, but does not make any comment about the weapon in Tooru’s grip.

 

Further ahead of them, Daichi is swinging around a large column of wood – likely a stolen pillar from one of the houses nearby. He takes out three assassins with a single, powerful swing, and Tooru doesn’t want to know the extent of the damage dealt when all three men are smashed against a nearby wall.

 

Standing next to Daichi, a stunned Yaku stares at the feat of strength with wide eyes. He’s only distracted for a moment, because then another group of assassins is approaching and he has his sword – curved as well, oddly enough – held in defence. Iwaizumi steps forward to help the smaller man as metal grinds on metal in a distorted screech, sparks flying as Yaku is pushed back; feet slipping on melted snow.

 

Only, Yaku doesn’t need any saving. He grunts from the force of the blow, but it only takes a second before he’s parrying it with the skill of a trained swordsman. It’s one of the most violent offensive retaliations Tooru has ever seen – almost like watching a wild animal fight – and it’s successful in placing the assassin on permanent defence.

 

Iwaizumi grunts when a pair of assassins drop from the rooftops without warning; raising his large sword above his head to meet the two curved blades head-on. Taking a step back, Tooru falls into a defensive position, eyes darting back towards Yaku in concern. The small brunette seems to have slipped past the assassin entirely, maybe due to his quick feet and petite stature, but it’s definitely pure bloodlust Tooru sees when Yaku drags the sharp edge of his sword against the skin of the assassin’s neck.

 

Tooru’s mind goes blank when thick, crimson blood sprays out of the open wound, and he freezes entirely when Yaku steps back and watches the body fall to the ground. Even the sounds of Iwaizumi’s battle, so near and vicious, fades into the background.

 

It’s not just the blood – the Prince has slowly gotten more used to the sight of it, whether it be for hunt or for humans – but the cold, calculating look in Yaku’s eyes.

 

It's not natural, and something… _something is off_.

 

“Yaku-san!” A desperate cry reaches their ears. The odd look in Yaku’s eyes fades at the sound of it, and Tooru follows his gaze as he whips around to find the owner of the voice – startling, understandably, when they find two children peeking out from behind a small stack of wooden crates.

 

“Lev? Kenma?” Yaku shouts in return, his voice a note higher from panic and adrenaline. “You should have been evacuated! What are you _doing_ here?!”

 

The smaller brunette makes to reach out towards the two children, but he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of a new wave of assassins; spinning around and baring his teeth in response.

 

“I’ll take them!” Tooru darts forward, still safe behind the small barricade that Iwaizumi and Yaku have created by taking their stand at the opening of a small street. He sheaths his dagger and tucks either child under his arms, ignoring their squirming as he searches for a way out.

 

“Head towards the forest!” Yaku instructs, the sound muffled between gritted teeth. Tooru spares a glance back at the two swordsmen, an odd understanding that there is nothing else he can say or do to help their situation running through his mind, before sprinting off towards the treeline.

 

The weight of Kenma and Lev combined take a toll on the Prince, who is definitely not strong and durable like Daichi, and he’s not as fast as he would like to be. Akaashi, who’s seen them from the rooftops, trails after them in silent protection until he’s ambushed by a group of three.

 

Tooru swallows as he hears the sounds of the fight. He knows that Akaashi can handle himself, as can Daichi and Iwaizumi, but he still worries. Bokuto, especially – they hadn’t even reached the village centre before Tooru’s path had been turned, but the black plumes of smoke reaching high into the winter air can only mean that the Pyromancer is still up and fighting.

 

The only warning Tooru has is a soft whistling sound. It can hardly even be heard above the sound of his own pants, but the Prince manages to dodge the assassin that had very literally just dropped out of the sky.

 

“Leave the children alone!” The Prince growls, gathering the two children behind him protectively. Both of them are shaking, their small hands gripping onto Tooru’s robes as hard as they can, but Tooru knows that he won’t be able to serve as anything more than a human shield.

 

The Prince has never killed anyone before, has never even felt like he has the potential to kill before – and the Nohebi assassins fight to the death.

 

“The Leader will spare the children. He needs to replenish the lives that have been lost with a new generation.” The assassin replies, his voice deep and rough from disuse. Tooru bristles at the thought of the children of the Den being brainwashed and trained into assassins. Lev and Kenma are too sweet, too young, too _innocent_. “I am here for you, Prince Oikawa Tooru. You are to remain alive.”

 

“ _Huh_?” A new voice drawls, dragging out the word like a punctuation for the absurdity of the situation. Tooru’s eyes widen, feet shuffling back unconsciously as a dark silhouette takes form from the alleyway behind the assassin. “What did you say?”

 

The assassin seems to have frozen in fear, his knees shaking like a leaf in wind and his eyes bulging out of their sockets bloodshot. A knife to his back couldn’t have brought forth such a frightened expression – assassins, especially, must not be unfamiliar with the possibility. Tooru frowns, and pushes Lev and Kenma further behind him so that they are fully hidden behind his body.

 

“I-” The assassin gulps, unable to form the words needed to reply to the shadow’s question.

 

“I asked you,” This time, the shadow’s voice is louder and clearer, and Tooru frowns. It sounds familiar, but he can’t seem to match it to a face or a name. “To repeat what you just said.”

 

And the Prince’s thoughts come to an abrupt stop when he sees something peeking out the front of the assassin’s robes. They’re fleshy little lumps, nothing but tiny bumps protruding out of black cloth – but then they grow longer, into lithe rods, before connecting together on a big, ridged plane.

 

Tooru realises, merely a second later, that it’s a _hand_ sticking out of the grown man’s chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. i // Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to be at the airport in a few hours and I'm not even done packing yet ^^" I'm glad that all of you seemed to enjoy the last chapter! If all goes well, the next update will be out during the later part of next week.
> 
> Thank you for your support <3 I can't believe we're already at chapter 20! Enjoy :))

 

Tooru gapes openly, eyes rounded like saucers, as the fingers wriggle and flex. The assassin can do nothing but stare down at the digits jutting out of his chest in horror, his own hands shaking so hard that his curved scimitar falls to the floor with a muffled clatter.

 

“Cheh.” The shadow scoffs. The fingers withdraw from the front of the man’s chest, until they disappear back into the cavity of his body. “You’re not useful at all, are you.”

 

Everything after that happens in a blur.

 

The shadow raises a hand, fingers straightened and palm taut – and the Prince knows this is _not_ just a figment of his imagination because those fingers are flesh and blood and not merely shadow or darkness – before slicing it through the air as if it were a sword itself. It passes through the assassin’s torso without any resistance, emerging on the other side as the assassin chokes out a garbled, guttural noise.

 

Tooru flinches back violently when the body splits cleanly into two, landing separately on the ground in neatly-cut halves. Unable to do anything but stare at the pool of blood welling up on the snow, the Prince only looks up blearily when the viscous liquid touches the tip of his shoes.

 

Kuroo Tetsurou steps out of the shadows, golden eyes narrowed in a frown as he tugs his winter gloves back on. There is no remorse in his gaze, and not a speck of blood on his own body – regardless of the evidence of his deed lying dead on the floor between them.

 

“Lev, Kenma, come here.” The chieftain orders. There is an edge of exasperation in the tone of his voice, but it’s still gentle and filled with worry. “No one knew where you were. You really worried us.”

 

The two children hurriedly scamper out from behind Tooru and silently obey Kuroo. They don’t so much as acknowledge the mutilated corpse dying the snow pink, instead flocking to their chief and burying their faces in his coat. The black-haired man sighs, deflating slightly, as he ruffles Kenma’s hair and pats Lev on the back.

 

When his gaze focuses on Tooru, it is hardened and sharpened into the complete contrary of what Tooru has just witnessed.

 

“You lied to me.” Kuroo states plainly. The Prince knows that he deserves to be blamed for everything – lying, causing so much hurt and leading Nohebi straight to the Den – and so he remains silent as his thoughts run wild in his head.

 

“I was wondering how I could’ve missed out on the name Oyama, if they were as rich and influential a family as you insisted they were, but the name Oikawa- _yes_. I have heard many, many things about you, _Oikawa_ Tooru, and they are _not_ good things.” Kuroo spits, gaze fiery as he clutches onto the children at his sides a little harder. “An arrogant Prince who has yet to show his face to the common people of this Kingdom, a genius in battle plans but nothing much else, and spoilt rotten with the fruits of the people’s labour. You lived lavishly even when so many of your people were suffering, and you knew _nothing_ of it.”

 

The hard set of Kuroo’s mouth tilts upward in a wayward smirk at the guilty spark in Tooru’s eyes, but it disappears as fast as it developed. “You told me you were a noble’s son, not the goddamned _Crown Prince_ of the Empire.”

 

“Well, then please do attempt to forgive me for being wary of a stranger,” Tooru replies, a little frustrated with the way Kuroo is accusing him of things he hates himself for already. His voice comes out almost hysteric. “Try walking all over the place for months on end and having to hide from everyone else because they’ll probably stone you to death, or turn you in on the count of high treason. You can’t tell anyone that your cousin set you up to get the throne because no one will believe you, and you can’t even allow yourself to _seem_ upset because you’re a _Prince_ , and everyone _else_ will feel bad because they think it’s somehow _their_ fault instead. It’ll beat some life lessons into you real quick, that’s for sure.”

 

Tooru pants lightly when he’s done, stepping away from Kuroo until his back comes into contact with a wall. The cold seeps past his robes and digs deep into his bones, and the Prince can’t help thinking back, to Kousuke’s severed head and Suga’s kind smile, to the many malnourished slaves being chained and treated as nothing more than an object – to the trust that has developed between him and Daichi and Bokuto on the basis of the lie that is what they know of the Prophecy.

 

Tooru’s failures have been haunting him, weighing him down, and he thinks they always will.

 

“I never meant for any of you to get hurt,” Tooru speaks, his voice soft and broken. “You were _good_. You helped us. And yet all you got in return was death and destruction.” The Prince scoffs a little at himself. “I never really felt that it mattered, that I was born under a bad star, but all this is turning out like some sort of Great Tragedy.”

 

Kuroo looks at him silently, no more sympathy in his eyes than when Tooru first spoke. The proud boy he’s come to know in the past two days is strong – much stronger, and more resilient than he seems on the outside. The chief himself knows some of the rumours to be untrue. Prince or no, Oikawa Tooru looks out for the people around him because he’s forged real, tangible relationships with each and every one of them, and he’s not nearly selfish or cowardly enough to have allowed that assassin to hurt Lev and Kenma.

 

As expected, the Prince pulls himself together quickly; brushing away any stray tears and straightening his posture.

 

Kuroo allows himself to be a little impressed.

 

“I know that I’m in no position to ask anything of you,” Tooru begins, words slow and decisive as he raises his gaze to meet the chief’s. “But I’m not the only one hiding something.”

 

The dam constructed on the outskirts of the village is not something any uneducated commoner could think up. Men with skill sets far exceeding those of the hunters they claim to be, and even the lack of any elderly in the Den; with the oldest being Kuroo and Yaku themselves, points to a hidden truth Tooru is on the verge of uncovering.

 

“You’re no ordinary villager, Kuroo-san, and this isn’t any typical village, either.” Tooru declares, stepping forward. His eyes flicker back to where the assassin’s severed body lies, exposed muscle yellowing with pus. It gives off a sour scent, like milk gone bad in the heat, and the blood that had pooled red and bright is now black and hardening like tar. The Prince bends down to tug at black cloth, revealing dark cracks in the pale, almost stark-white colour of the assassin's skin. Swallowing down his disgust, Tooru stands back up and clenches his jaw. “Just _who_ are you, Kuroo-san?”

 

The dark-haired chieftain stares at the Prince standing before him, golden eyes narrowed with thought. “You know, I’m more used to people asking _what_ I am.”

 

Tooru sticks out his chin in something like defiance. “I’ve been told that I’m rather odd.”

 

Kuroo’s eyebrows wise with intrigue, before he shakes his head and relents with a sigh. “I was many things before I became the chieftain of this village. A slave, first of all, from the moment I was born. Back then, I was… the possession of a violent drunk of a nobleman, along with Yaku- Yaku, and Daishou. It was then that I found I could walk right through objects, even move my hand through things like some sort of ghost.”

 

“I was lucky that my master never found out about it. Yaku and Daishou helped me learn to control it, and they covered for me when I couldn’t.” Kuroo continues, running a hand through his messy hair. “But that wasn’t enough for me. I could shrug off my chains, sure, but I just _couldn’t_ help my friends do the same to theirs, no matter how hard I tried – until one day, when our master was close to killing us over a small mistake. I pressed my hands onto the chains between my legs and watched as they bubbled and sizzled and _gave way_.”

 

“We never went back. Never even cast a look back, as we made our escape.” There is something almost crazed about the look on Kuroo’s face; his eyes bright as they gaze at his hand. Tooru almost startles when the chieftain suddenly clenches it into a fist. “The three of us started looting from the Rich to give to the Poor, and we freed many slaves while we were at it. But a new problem soon arose – the slums started getting raided when no-one could find us, and many of the people we rescued ended up back in slavery after being caught without the right citizenship papers.”

 

Tooru’s entire body has frozen up at the thought of the mindless killing of the innocent. The people of the slums don’t have any social or financial power – they must have been powerless to stop their homes from being pillaged and their kin from being slaughtered.

 

“So Daishou came up with an idea,” Kuroo says this with a deep darkness in his eyes, a darkness that Tooru wants to understand. “We would be paid handsomely for killing the greedy pigs of the Nobility, which would allow us to take in former slaves and help to rehabilitate the people of the slums who had been displaced by the army’s purging.”

 

Tooru’s hands fly to his mouth in dawning realisation.

 

“Forming an Assassins’ Guild sounded like a good idea at the time. My abilities suited assassination well.” Kuroo shakes his head, and he pats Lev’s head when the boy looks up at him in confusion. “But Daishou took it too far. He began training the others to kill, to hate, and to follow him without any hesitation. He was building an army of mindless machines, and it was too late to stop it once Yaku and I realised the severity of the situation.”

 

“So you left.” A new voice – no, not _new_. It’s the same, smooth voice from the forest, and it draws their gazes up, to where a black-clothed form is perched daintily on a rooftop.

 

“Daishou,” Kuroo growls, teeth gritted together, and the man’s lips twist into a condescending smile. Moss-green strands droop into the space where an eye should be, instead brushing against the dark leather of an eyepatch. His only eye is a steely grey; pupils thin and long like a viper’s.

 

“Such a spoilsport, this one,” Daishou’s smile widens into a grin, and he barks out a short laugh as he reclines on the slope of the roof. “Took lil’ Yaku, a few of our best men, and left without so much as a ‘see you later’, or a ‘take care, Suguru’!”

 

Tooru can only watch as the assassin flips over the edge of the roof, dangling before him and pointing at the eyepatch strapped around his head.

 

“Careful, Princeling,” Daishou mocks, swinging closer to Tooru’s face. “Or he’ll take _your_ eye, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	21. i // Slither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm one week late! But life :( This chapter was such a bitch, and because I'm indecisive af, I've put the plot of the later half of Book ii and the entirety of Book iii into question *rolls eyes* again.
> 
> Thanks for your support <3 let's all try to figure out who the true snake is, yeah? ;)

 

Tooru blanches a little, and steps back; away from the snake dangling down at him from the rafters.

 

“Enough of your nonsense, Daishou.” Kuroo orders, his voice deep and not unlike how he addresses the village hunters. Belatedly, Tooru realises that those young boys – the same ones who’d run around the village in excitement because Bokuto and Akaashi had sniffed out a bear, out of all things – must have been assassins at one point in their life. It would certainly explain why said pair of Southernlanders took particular notice of the skills of what would otherwise be a group of ordinary village boys playing hunt.

 

The assassin scoffs, swinging himself back up onto the rooftop and taking a seat. He’s looking right at Tooru as he pulls out a curved dagger. “Like I said, a spoilsport.”

 

Tooru looks at Kuroo to gauge his reaction, but the chieftain easily ignores Daishou’s spiteful jab in favour of bending down to Kenma and Lev’s height. He rests his hands on the two children’s shoulders and addresses them with a stern gaze. “Kenma, Lev, go to the forest. You know where.”

 

The Prince is a little taken aback at the tone that Kuroo takes with the pair – future ruler or not, Tooru’s father had never seemed to regard him very seriously when he was a child, much less with any favour. It wasn’t a secret that Oikawa Teiji preferred holding himself at a distance when it came to child-rearing, and it definitely wasn’t hard when all his time had been absorbed by war councils and meetings – no doubt one of the factors that had led to the Sugawara’s blessing the Royal Family with their third child. A cold attitude and clear contempt then became the King’s shield once Tooru had been old enough, _learned_ enough, to form brilliant strategies to turn the tides of war and Teiji couldn’t possibly go on with simply ignoring him.

 

However, the relationship between father and son – between the King and his Imperial heir – hadn’t improved by much, even at the time of the Oikawa Patriarch’s untimely death.

 

“…But- Kuroo,” Kenma stutters, flinching away when Daishou leans down to leer at him. It’s toothy and knowing, an expression solely engineered to get under the recipient’s skin, and Tooru’s eyes narrow at the assassin who shows no mercy even to children less than half his age.

 

Daishou ignores the Prince’s pointed gaze, instead flicking his hand to shoo Kenma away; amused expression failing to fade from upturned lips. “Listen to your daddy and run away, little kitten.”

 

Thoroughly frightened, Lev immediately takes hold of Kenma’s hand and, with a final nod from Kuroo, breaks into a run. All three of them watch the two children disappear around the corner in the pitter-patter of small feet, and it’s when the sounds fade that Kuroo turns to glare up at the green-haired assassin. “Get out of my village before you end up dead.”

 

And Tooru steps back; pressing himself against the wall as Daishou replies by pouncing on Kuroo like a panther on its prey. The latter isn’t an easy target, however, and he dodges what would have been a fatal blow while unsheathing his own, curved scimitar.

 

“I’m here for the Princeling,” Daishou says, stubbornly maintaining a pleasant smile even as sparks fly between their clashing blades. “Get out of the way, Tetsurou.”

 

Neither side seems to have an edge over the other, the familiarity in their movements clear, and Tooru really can’t help but wonder how long ago it was that the two actually separated.

 

Daishou’s smile flattens the more Kuroo parries his blows, and Tooru only sees a flash of steel before Daishou’s pulling out a hidden dagger and throwing it straight at Kuroo. There’s a loud clang as the chieftain bats the dagger away as easily as if it were a children’s toy, and Tooru’s eyes dart back from where the wayward weapon embeds itself in a nearby wall.

 

The sudden silence becomes deafening as Kuroo and Daishou take to staring each other down from opposite sides of the snow-covered road; not once distracted by the dead body lying forgotten between them. Kuroo’s hand falls back to his side – and the assumption that he’s relaxed, guard down, is _wrong_ because his knuckles are still white around the hilt of his blade and his teeth are grinding through a stiff smirk.

 

It’s at this point in time that Tooru has decided that he’s seen enough; _understood_ enough about both Kuroo and Daishou. Any other moment, and the Prince may not even have the ability to halt the brewing fight – much less _stop_ it. Now, however, in this odd stalemate between old comrades as much alike as they are different, Tooru _does_.

 

So before either assassin can move, their bodies tensed up and ready for another deadly round of sparring, the Prince forces his foot forward and positions himself between them.

 

Tooru knows he’s brilliant. As unreliable as they were, his palace tutors spoke nothing but praises for his intellect and the ease with which he understood politics, geography, astronomy – and how he used that deep well of knowledge to form incredible stratagems that have undoubtedly saved many lives and won them battles they otherwise would not have stood a chance in.

 

All of these accomplishments under his belt, and it’s all attributed to the fact that he’s able to dissect people and their motivations as easily. Just looking into their eyes is like gazing into a window to their soul, and talking to them is like rooting out the fundamental basics of their person.

 

He’s found that this ability is one of a kind, and it’s also why no one else has developed- no, _painstakingly cultivated_ the ability to use people as efficiently as he can.

 

Tooru had time with Sugawara and Iwaizumi, fostering bonds so strong their loyalty will – and Tooru pauses at this, thoughts flashing back to milk bread hidden in long sleeves, and the bloody night that started it all – and should never be questioned. But now, with the security of their lives being pulled into question by a dangerous prophecy, it’s nothing more than a race against time to get his throne back; and it’s why Tooru doesn’t have the luxury of taking the same liberties with the Horsemen as he’d had with his childhood friends.

 

All of his Horsemen have been diverse in ways the Prince himself could never have expected, with personalities and identities worlds apart from each other. Consumed by bitterness, Daichi craved justice that Tooru was more than happy to give him. Bokuto; poor, outcasted Bokuto, merely craves a family where both he and Akaashi can belong.

 

Tooru might be a manipulative bastard to his core, but he isn’t a monster, and he doesn’t take without giving back.

 

“I’m tired of speaking in circles – or, fighting in circles, as I’m sure the two of you have likely been doing since the dawn of time, so I will speak clearly.” The Prince sighs, and he steps back a little when he’s sure they’re listening so that it’s not so much of an effort to speak to both Kuroo and Daishou at once. They look expectedly annoyed at the interruption and not-so-subtle dig at what they must believe to be a feud worth lasting centuries, but Tooru can work with that. “Daishou, how much is Ushijima paying you?”

 

Daishou straightens, one eyebrow arched in question. “He’s offering a thousand pieces of gold to whoever’s able to bring you back to the capital.”

 

Kuroo snorts a little at the absurd amount of money, but Daishou watches closely for Tooru’s reaction. Tooru hums contemplatively, then looks back up to regard Daishou. “Three thousand pieces of gold to leave us – and that includes Kuroo’s village – alone, and, of course, employment. When I get back my throne Nohebi will work for me. As a stealth unit, if you will.”

 

Stunned, the chieftain is silent as Daishou barks out something like a chuckle.

 

“You’re so awfully serious, little Prince,” The assassin shakes his head, sheathing his sword in one smooth motion. “It’s a very juicy offer you have there, but Ushijima’s on the throne. Not you. How do I know if you’ll even be able to claw your way to the top, much less offer me a place under your rule?”

 

It’s Tooru’s turn to laugh, and he does so even through his annoyance at the given nickname. “Oh, you really don’t have to worry about that. The crown is _mine_ , and I’ll take it back from Ushijima’s severed head if I have to.”

 

Tooru’s smile dims. When had he gotten so... _violent_?

 

Ignoring Daishou’s appraising look, the Prince reaches a hand deep into the pocket sewn into his sleeve and drops a small, shining blue stone into the assassin’s open palm. “My mother’s earring. It’s very precious to me, and I’d like to have it back.”

 

Daishou stares down at the glimmering piece of jewelry, looks up at Tooru, and then clenches his hand into a fist. “Assurance.”

 

Tooru nods. “Assurance.”

 

Then, with one final, meaningful glance thrown Kuroo’s way, Daishou pulls himself back up onto the roof and disappears into the white of winter.

 

They’re silent for a while as Tooru turns back to face Kuroo. The chieftain had remained quiet for most of Tooru’s conversation with Daishou, and he now regards Tooru with eyes glossed over in contemplation. “So, Oikawa Tooru, what will you offer _me_ , in exchange for my services?”

 

“There is much I have to explain,” Tooru brings a hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his head; sheepish smile in place. The expression slips off his face. “When I take back my rightful throne, I’ll give your people fertile lands so that they don’t have to starve every winter. I’ll send Lev and Kenma to school, and allow your hunters to join the ranks of the Palace Guard. You may despise Daishou for what he did, but I’ll need Nohebi to make sure that it never happens again.”

 

Kuroo’s eyebrow arches in question, and the Prince’s answering smile is predatory. “When I return, and I will- with a vengeance, I will _ban all slavery in the Empire_.”

  
Tooru makes sure to look right into Kuroo’s eyes and refuses to flinch; deep chocolate burning sharp gold. “That’s a promise, Kuroo.”

 

The chieftain’s hands ball into fists – and Tooru swallows down a triumphant rush.

 

Hook, Line, and Sinker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. i // Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's July tomorrow and I'm not ready!!! *cries* I'm still figuring out the last bit of plot, but the rest of Book I has already been finalized. Woohoo!
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

 

Tooru giggles as he sprints through the many hallways linking the Inner Palace to the Outer Gardens; intricately engraved pillars blurring as he passes by them.

 

The Prince’s headdress almost falls off when he casts a look back. No one is following him – not any of his attendants, and not even Suga. Tooru isn’t very surprised, either, since he’d purposely hopped out of the window after his History lesson to avoid pursuers.

 

Out of all his servants, it’s Suga who must certainly know where the Prince is headed. They’re the closest, after all, and Tooru might even consider them friends. Suga just isn’t very fit, or fast, unlike his two older brothers Kousuke and Kouichi, who’re already training with the King’s best swordsmen.

 

Soft silk billows behind Tooru in streaks of baby blue and turquoise. They’re still a little big for him, but it was a gift from the Empire’s Western Allies for his 10th birthday and made from the finest material Tooru has ever laid his hands on. Wearing these robes almost feels like he’s surrounded by clouds, or sitting in a cooling bath in the middle of summer.

 

Tooru hastens his steps as he spots his destination, and he grins when he hears the familiar sounds of clashing wooden staffs.

 

“Iwa-chan!” The Prince calls, pausing at the top of the stairs before hiking up his robes and bounding down to the secluded training grounds behind the Royal Tutors’ quarters.

 

At the sound of Tooru’s voice, both Iwaizumi and his father pause in their sparring. The elderly man is a legendary swordsman who was a General back when it was Oikawa’s grandfather on the throne, and it’s considered a high honour to be taught by someone as experienced as him. Instead of marrying and settling down – as would have been easy for him back in his Prime – Hasekura Akio decided on remaining in the Palace as a Royal Tutor. It was only recently that he’d adopted Iwaizumi off the streets.

 

“Prince Tooru,” Hasekura greets when Tooru approaches. Both father and son bow at the waist, and the older swordsman straightens with a knowing look in his eye. “Have you just finished your lessons for the day?”

 

“Yes, Oji-san!” Tooru nods, grinning back at the elderly man in answer. His sleeve slips down to his elbow when he reaches up to stabilize the heavy silver headdress resting on his head. Tooru is old enough to know what he’s allowed to get away with, with who and at what time, so he’s begun milking his influence for all its worth.

 

“Come fight me, Tooru!” Iwaizumi invites in a playful growl. He’s dressed in the same training robes as his father, but his are stained with dirt from falling over.

 

Tooru is still a little taller than Iwaizumi, even though the latter has been growing worryingly fast as of late, but Iwaizumi is definitely much stronger; his lithe limbs saturated with muscle from days training with his father. It’s an entirely different story from when Iwaizumi had first arrived in the Palace. He’d been all skin and bones when they’d met, and Tooru’s head attendant at the time had almost mistaken the other for a servant boy. Even then, Hasekura must have been nursing Iwaizumi back to health before his entrance into the Palace.

 

Tooru really doesn’t want to think about how Iwaizumi must have looked like when he’d been found.

 

“Can you help me, Oji-san?” Tooru asks, looking up at the older man with big eyes. Hasekura chuckles indulgently, his deep voice morphing the sound into something more like a purr, before bending down and gently unlatching the heavy silver ornaments from Tooru’s hair.

 

The King, as well as the Royal Guard, have been students of Hasekura’s, and his stern, no-nonsense personality has garnered him quite a reputation in the Imperial Palace. However, Tooru has come to know Hasekura as more like a grandfather, or an uncle, and the old swordsman treats both Iwaizumi and Tooru a little more leniently than he would any other student.

 

Hasekura might respect Tooru as a Prince, but he’s still strict when he needs to be and refuses to bow to any unreasonable demands. It’s no surprise that Tooru much rather prefers Hasekura to all the other spineless, gold-digging tutors and officials in the Palace – even if he doesn’t always get what he wants.

 

“Off you go, Prince Tooru,” Hasekura pats Tooru’s back, tossing him a wooden practice staff before stepping back. The Prince has been training with Hasekura for almost as long as Iwaizumi has, so he catches the staff one-handedly; the weapon a familiar weight in his palm.

 

Turning back to Iwaizumi, the Prince watches as the other boy crouches into a defensive pose. Iwaizumi has always loved a good spar, and better so if it’s Tooru. Neither of them has any chance of winning against Hasekura, so Iwaizumi has always loved beating Tooru into the dust.

 

The Prince mimics Iwaizumi’s stance, staff held tightly in front of him, and watches as the other boy’s youthful features sharpen into a concentrated glare.

  
And then it starts.

 

Iwaizumi darts forward, no hesitation in his gaze and staff gripped tightly in his hands. He’s not yet grown into his limbs, not yet comfortable in his body, and his skills are not yet polished till they shine on the battlefield.

 

Tooru blinks, and then the little boy in front of him is replaced by his older counterpart.

 

Iwaizumi is taller now – much taller, yet not as tall as Tooru. The staff is not a staff but a shining, sharp monstrosity of a sword and Iwaizumi is not gripping it tightly in his hands but caressing it with the seasoned familiarity of a tested warrior. The muscles on his arms are defined, his skin tanned from days tolling, fighting, _surviving_ under the heat of the sun. There are many scars marring the planes of Iwaizumi’s body now, and many more where Tooru can’t see, but Iwaizumi has become so strong that Tooru isn’t just blinded by the rain drops falling down from the heavens but also the sheer pride with which he regards his oldest friend.

 

There might be something else there, as well, but Tooru can’t dwell on it.

 

He’s not allowed to.

 

“Stop daydreaming!” Iwaizumi growls, bringing his sword down with enough strength to split a tree in half. Tooru snaps out of his thoughts immediately; stopping the descent of the blade with the flat side of his dagger.

 

Goosebumps rise on Tooru’s skin as the rain thickens. It’s Spring, snow melting into the lush greenery, but the passing storm brings the chill of Winter with it.

 

The Prince’s arms are shaking, both from the force of Iwaizumi’s blow and sheer exhaustion. Both of them have been sparring for a few hours, at the least, and it’s the most intense they’ve been since their training sessions back in the Palace.

 

Tooru grits his teeth, managing to deflect the blow for a second of respite. He’s ready when Iwaizumi retaliates with an equally deadly swing, falling into a crouch to dodge the horizontal slash before pushing off the muddy ground. Of course, Iwaizumi is a warrior with much more experience on a real battlefield than the Prince, and the force of their blades ricocheting off each other pushes Tooru back a few paces.

 

The Prince breathes raggedly. He’s thoroughly spent from both their travels and the subsequent training Iwaizumi has been giving him, so he straightens and waves at the General. “Alright, alright, we all know how strong you are, Iwa-chan, but I’m tired.”

 

Iwaizumi huffs a little, although he relaxes from his stance as well. “Idiot Prince. You’re so out of shape that anyone could take you in a one-on-one swordfight.”

 

“Well, that’s why he has us, isn’t it?” A voice adds from the shadows. Tooru turns, brushing dripping strands of hair out of his eyes to see Kuroo lounging on the branch of a nearby tree; arms crossed and feet propped up in relaxation. It’s the first time Tooru has seen Kuroo’s hair wet, and the dark strands droop into his eyes and fall about his head in soft locks.

 

“There might be a day we won’t be around to protect him.” Iwaizumi replies, his tone even, as he sheathes his sword. Being the last possession handed down to him by his deceased father, the beastly thing is an irreplaceable treasure to Iwaizumi. “I want him to be prepared, in the event that day ever comes.”

 

Kuroo remains silent for a second, rain sliding down the side of his face in fat droplets. Then his lips split into a toothy leer that Tooru has learned to identify as one of the assassin’s signature expressions.

 

“You’re frustrated that he won’t get any better, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. Tooru’s eyebrow twitches in irritation at being ignored. “You don’t understand why.”

 

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to keep his silence, although it doesn’t stop Kuroo from barreling forward. “It’s simple, actually. You two are… too _familiar_ with each other’s styles. There isn’t any competition between you anymore. You trust each other too much, and that’s really odd, considering how you’re waving around perfectly functioning weapons at each other.”

 

Tooru’s eyes slide over to Iwaizumi, whose hands have balled into fists. It seems what Kuroo is saying isn’t something foreign to the General either – it would explain why Iwaizumi’s last few swings were hard enough to fell a bear.

 

Kuroo hops off his perch and approaches Tooru, his feet squelching in the wet ground. When he’s near enough, the assassin presses his second finger against Tooru’s chest, right above his heart. “You don’t possess any bloodlust. You don’t want to kill – and when you don’t want to kill, you won’t be able to fight. At least not properly.”

 

Kuroo pauses, allowing his words to sink in, before pulling Tooru’s hand up; so that his dagger is right in the line of his gaze.

 

“I’ll admit that you’re good. You were trained well, and by someone skillful.” Kuroo says, and his eyes are a molten gold as they bore into Tooru’s. “But sparring won’t help you anymore. Not when you won’t – or rather _can’t_ take your partner seriously.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	23. i // Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday! :)
> 
> Do check out the Notes for the first chapter if you're a regular reader because I've updated it with more info! The next chapter might be a little late because I'm moving to another country this week and it's really hectic :( I apologize in advance!
> 
> Thank you for the support! Enjoy <3

 

Kuroo’s words stick with Tooru all throughout the last breaths of Winter and into the heart of Spring.

 

The Prince can’t seem to stop thinking about what it means – for him to have come to trust so fully in Iwaizumi that he can’t even fathom being seriously hurt by him, even by accident. It’s not something that could never happen, either, taking into consideration the massive sword Iwaizumi carries around, and Tooru can’t help but beat himself up over what he considers a serious oversight.

 

It just makes it worse that it was _Kuroo_ who had to point it out to him, and not something he’d come to realize himself.

 

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto crows, mouth split open in a blinding smile as he pulls himself up onto a particularly large bollard. The wind – salty and humid, as is often the case at the seaside – tousles his hair so strongly it almost breaks out of its regular horned form. “It feels good to be back where there’s actually _people_ again!”

 

“Please control yourself, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi sighs, the bells tied around his ankle jingling as he steps forward to tug on the other’s robes. “We’re supposed to be discreet.” The last word almost comes out in a hiss.

 

Tooru chuckles indulgently from the shade of a building and waves dismissively at the acrobat. “It’s quite alright, Kei-chan. The three of you couldn’t be _discreet_ even if you tried.”

 

“That’s actually what I used to do for a living,” Kuroo supplies, looking up from where he’d been observing the water at the edge of the pier with a smile that can only be described as patronizing. “If you didn’t know.”

 

Tooru _feels_ rather than sees something splintering and decides to take the situation in hand before Daichi, standing sentinel on his left, can burst a vein. The Prince himself doesn’t see any fault in the others’ actions since he himself is rather taken with the view.

 

As per Suga’s theory, the seven of them headed to the Eastern-most point of the Empire’s vast lands – a Port Town that seems to be the center of maritime trade. The Trade Town had been bustling, and heading into this new Port Town is another thing altogether, but Tooru considers the real show stopper to be the great blue spreading into the horizon.

 

Tooru has never seen the sea before.

 

He’s studied it, of course; read stories about brave Navy men and articles about sea trade. But one thing he’s learned on this journey is that learning is very different from actually experiencing something in the flesh. This time, the sea isn’t some vague concept, or even what his books describe as a large body of water.

 

The sea is moving, is depths and layers of currents and sea foam, is the home of many creatures – most of which Tooru can’t even see from its ever-changing surface. The sea is something to be explored; a bountiful new frontier with limits that Tooru can barely begin to imagine.

 

The sea is beautiful, and Tooru doesn’t understand how he could ever have sat idly in the Palace and missed all the wonder of the world.

 

“Bokuto, Akaashi, you two have a look around the downtown area,” Tooru instructs, glancing at Suga. “Kuroo, Daichi, Suga and I will head to the market and work our way outwards from there.”

 

They left Iwaizumi back at camp to take care of what measly belongings they’d collected over their travels – including their fur coats from the Winter. Bokuto and Akaashi, still dressed in Southernland garb that exposes too much of Bokuto’s chest and almost the entirety of Akaashi’s back, are too conspicuous and will draw too much attention for Tooru and Suga for them to remain incognito.

 

Both Tooru and the attendant have their hoods drawn to hide their features. Should it be exposed, Suga’s whole head of grey hair would be the equivalent of declaring their identities to the world. The Sugawara’s are a rather unique noble lineage, after all, and Tooru doesn’t know any other family that shares the same head of grey.

 

Tooru’s face, of course, has been plastered around the Empire in the form of Wanted Posters. The Prince had seen his reflection in the water that morning, and he’d been shocked by how much he’s changed in the months he’s been away from home, but it’s still not as though _no one_ would be able to recognize him. Especially if they’d known him before – like Hanamaki and Tendou had done, back in the Trade Town.

 

They split up at the next fork in the road; Tooru and Suga leading the way while Daichi and Kuroo follow behind at opposite sides of the road. The Prince throws a quick glance back and turns around when the assassin winks cheekily at him.

 

Kuroo might seem relaxed, but Tooru had seen his hand flying to the single scimitar – the other left back in camp – at his side. The assassin is wary enough, _tense_ enough, to be ready whenever Tooru gives him a signal; any signal, actually, to indicate that there is something wrong.

 

Having Kuroo and Daichi look out for them gives Tooru some relief, and the Prince links an arm with Suga as a small smile twists at his lips.

 

“You’re in a good mood today,” Suga remarks, returning Tooru’s brightened expression with his own, toothy grin. The Prince nods. “I never knew how enchanting the sea truly is.”

 

Suga stares at Tooru a little – and the Prince has to realize that the other boy is holding his gaze for too long to be natural – as his grin dims. Tooru frowns. “Is there something wrong, Suga?”

 

Looking conflicted, the attendant seems to debate something with himself as he fumbles with his sleeve. “Well- you see…”

 

Now, Tooru is many things, but he’s not stupid. Or daft, for that matter. He’s seen Suga struggling with himself for a while, but had faith that he would come to him immediately if it were a pressing issue, and so settled on waiting for the attendant to come to him of his own accord.

 

“I- I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, my lor- Tooru.” Suga begins, worrying his lip. Tooru simply watches him silently. “I know… I was meant to be wed back at the palace, due to both my family’s wishes, as well as the King’s. It’s an honour, really, to be matched by the King himself.”

 

“You don’t wish to get married?” Tooru hazards a guess, and is rewarded by guilt contorting his attendant’s dainty features.

 

“It’s not that I don’t, your- uh, Tooru,” Suga hurries, the arm linked around Tooru’s tightening in his haste. “It would be wonderful to be wed, just not… in that way.”

 

Tooru hums under his breath and nods, smiling when he sees Suga’s worried expression fade into one of astonishment.

 

Marriages of convenience aren’t something obscure or exceptional, especially in as politically charged an environment as the Imperial Palace. Most, if not all, weddings are deliberate and meant to upset or maintain the power balance, and Suga’s marriage had not been any different.

 

The Sugawara’s are an old, noble lineage with very desirable blood. Their grey hair, a tell-tale sign of the Sugawara Family, is something that is highly sought after. With two older brothers ahead of him in the family inheritance and a severe lack of physical prowess, Sugawara Koushi had instead been scheduled to marry into the Terushima Family – a hideously wealthy Clan with a daughter to spare for the auspicious union.

 

Suga himself has not met the girl he had been fated to marry.

 

“When I become King, you will work for me as my secretary of state,” Tooru explains, shrugging lightly. There’s no hesitation in his voice because it’s something that he has always believed. “You won’t need that flimsy marriage. I suggest you find someone who you truly feel for.” The Prince trails off at the last word as something clicks in his mind. A knowing smile stretches at his lips. “Unless, of course, you already have somebody.”

 

Suga flushes red, his grin still a tad bit mischevious, and Tooru has to refrain from glancing back at a certain scarred Horseman. Honestly, Daichi and Suga possess close to no subtlety at all regarding their feelings for each other and it’s driving Tooru absolutely mad-

 

A flash of dull red catches Tooru’s gaze, and the Prince freezes in his step as he tries to make it out. Even Suga’s concerned calls fade into the background as his eyes seek out the emblem of a red sun imprinted on the back of someone’s – his _last Horseman’s_ – neck. The person’s hair is covered by a patterned scarf, and it disappears into the crowd as fast as Tooru had spotted it.

 

“Kuroo,” Tooru calls, uttering the name even before he can register it; his voice a watery distortion in the tumbling currents of his mind. The assassin must have seen the birthmark too, because he darts forward into the crowd with only a single affirmation to spare.

 

Tooru almost laughs as he grips Suga in a tight hug. The other boy had been a genius all along, and yet Tooru never realized it.

 

Conquest, War, Famine, Death. Three of the Horsemen have been found, and now?

 

Death is coming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. i // Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry for the long wait! Life has just been so hectic! 
> 
> Thank you to those of you who love this story and enjoy it as much as I do <3 (hope you guys like the new summary!) The adventure continues :)

 

Kuroo returns frowning, and alone.

 

“I lost him.” Is the assassin’s disgruntled reply. He shakes his head with a little grunt of displeasure, clearly not used to being outsmarted. “The crowd was too thick, and he seemed to be familiar with the streets. Disappeared before I could get within an arm’s reach.”

 

Of course. It’s never been easy. Why would Tooru think any differently this time round?

 

Inhaling slowly, the Prince leads their small group into the welcoming shadows of a nearby alleyway. Standing in the middle of a busy street hadn’t drawn much attention to them, but it’s definitely better to be away from prying ears. “Did you manage to catch any features?”

 

“It was definitely a boy,” Kuroo replies, eyes turned away in thought. “He had an athletic build; thicker than Akaashi, but less built than Sawamura. His hair was covered, and I wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of his face… I’m sorry, Oikawa.”

 

“You did the best you could.” Tooru shakes his head, sparing the assassin a small smile, before turning to Daichi. “Do you know how we could find someone like him, in a town as big as this?”

 

“We could get Bokuto and Akaashi to scour the nearby areas. Kuroo and I, as well, once we’ve escorted you back to camp.” The scarred man hums, crossing his arms over his chest. Tooru watches sinewy muscles stretch under tan skin, and remembers the brutal strength that comes with Conquest. “It would take days; maybe more. There’s really no guarantee.”

 

The Prince utters a small grunt of annoyance; eyes flickering between the two Horsemen as his thoughts run wild. Fate has proven too strong to diverge from, time and time again, but the whispers of war on the horizon – a war that Ushijima, sitting on Tooru’s rightful throne, has initiated – leaves Tooru anxious to be back where he belongs.

 

“… That might not be the case, my lord.” Suga interjects, and Tooru’s eyes snap to the grey-haired boy by his side. “I have an idea, but it’s a fairly large gamble if we do decide to go through with it.”

 

“A fairly large gamble?” One of Tooru’s eyebrows arches. “I’m listening.”

 

“In towns that are particularly far away from the capital, the wealthiest and most influential House in the area takes the role of governor; as I’m sure you’re aware of,” Suga explains. The attendant directs his words towards all three of his companions, but his eyes land on Tooru when the last of them escapes his mouth. “The governors of this town are the Futakuchi Family.”

 

Kuroo and Daichi exchange a confused glance; the former cocking his head to the side. “Your plan is to ask them for help?”

 

“Suga,” Daichi begins, eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Oikawa will be arrested the moment he reveals himself. All the noble families in the Empire have sworn themselves to the King – the King that they believe Oikawa murdered. They’ll be climbing over themselves just for the chance to turn in a traitorous Prince.”

 

Yes, that _would_ be the undeniable result of such a foolish plan, Tooru thinks, but... only if it were any other Noble family.

 

The Prince spares a glance at Suga; watches how the set of his mouth is hard and out of place on soft features and wavy grey hair. There is a moment of silence as Tooru considers this _foolish_ plan, and then he sighs in something like resignation. “It would be risky, indeed.”

 

Daichi’s mouth falls open a little. “Did you not hear what I just-?”

 

“Oikawa, you’re being ridiculous!” Kuroo interrupts, stepping forward. “I know we should hurry if we’re to stop any of the wars your cousin is adamant on starting, but- to put yourself in such danger is a risk we don’t need!”

 

Tooru holds up a placating hand and makes sure to meet both his Horsemen’s intense gazes. “The Futakuchi family is an… exception, of sorts.” His mouth curves into a grimace at the words. “There are countless horrible things that happen behind the perfect veneer of the capital, and the Futakuchi family was one of them.”

 

“The Futakuchi’s were one of the original families who backed Oikawa Teiji’s rule. As the second son, Tooru’s father should, rightfully, never have had a chance at becoming King. And it would have stayed that way, if not for his older brother’s incompetency.” Suga continues. “Their loyalty to Oikawa Teiji was _unquestionable_ all through the coup for the throne, even though disrupting the line of inheritance could have been the end for their clan.”

 

“So they were treasonous loyalists sworn to the King.” Kuroo huffs, the hand curled around the hilt of his scimitar tightening. “If anything, won’t they be even more inclined to turn Oikawa in?”

 

“They were loyal to Oikawa Teiji,” Tooru repeats, sharp brown eyes snapping up to glare at the impatient assassin, “Because he was married to Futakuchi Ayane, the daughter of the Family Head.”

 

Both Kuroo and Daichi seem to deflate at the new piece of information. The Queen has been all but forgotten by the common folk in the eighteen years since her passing. It’s not a surprise that her maiden name, her family name, was lost in the passage of time – through the chaotic border wars with the Kingdoms to the North and the South, and the deadly drought that spread through the land right after. The Prince knows this now, knows so much more about his people than when he’d been trapped within tall red walls and a false reality.

 

Tooru’s fingers fly to his ear, but fall back to his side when they fail to meet the smooth surface of his mother’s earring.

 

“The Futakuchi family is a powerful clan. Rich from a monopoly on maritime trade, and loved dearly by the people they govern over.” Suga says, and he shifts so that he can point to the shimmer of deep green tiles peeking over a sea of houses. “The current head of the house is Tooru’s uncle; his mother’s younger brother.”

 

“Well then that makes things easier, doesn’t it?” Daichi pipes up, turning from Suga to Tooru. “Your uncle would hear you out on account of his sister, wouldn’t he?”

 

As he shakes his head, Tooru can’t look Daichi in the eye. “Not… exactly. The Futakuchi family was banished from the capital on the day I was born. My father couldn’t face my mother’s family, not after she died. I’ve never met them.”

 

Kuroo runs a frustrated hand through his messy, dark hair and leaves it even more tousled than before. “Then that just leaves us back at square one. You have no idea whether the Futakuchi clan could be your closest allies or your worst enemies and this- this conversation is pointless. You should return to camp so that we can find Bokuto and Akaashi, and start searching for the fourth Horseman. It’s the only way you’re not in danger.”

 

The Prince remains silent, gaze contemplative as he looks from Kuroo, to Daichi, to Suga, and then to the sun winking at him through glossy jade tiles.

 

“I’m not going to sit back and hide if that means wasting days, maybe more, of our time.” Tooru finally says, mouth set and expression unreadable. “If they decide to help us, we’ll gain an irreplaceable ally.”

 

“And,” One of Daichi’s eyebrows is raised in question. “If they don’t?”

 

“Then they will die like any who will oppose me.” Tooru’s answer is definite, unwavering, and he knows deep in his mind that this is what he will have to do when he’s back on the throne – weed out all the bad, and reward whatever good is left. He might as well start now, with the family that he should have, could have, known.

 

“Besides,” The prince sighs, looking down at his fists. “This is a visit eighteen years overdue.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	25. i // Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the incredibly long wait :( Again :( I'll hopefully be able to write more now that the holidays are around the corner :)
> 
> Thank you for all the comments!! Your support really means a lot to me! Enjoy <3

 

“Identify yourself.” The guard’s facial features are as rigid and unapologetic as his stance. Beady eyes glare unblinkingly down at Suga. “What is your business with the Futakuchi Household?”

 

Tooru doesn’t blame him for his hostility. All four of them have their hoods drawn, shadows masking their faces. It’s suspicious behaviour, especially to men guarding the ancestral home of the Futakuchi family. They aren’t a very humble house at all, taking into account the sheer size of the mansion standing before them, and it is well known that they possess mountains upon mountains of gold – enough, Tooru thinks, to rival even that of the Royal treasury.

 

A massive structure of bamboo, rice paper and jade tiles, the Futakuchi mansion sits atop a hill like a glittering jewel on display. It faces the sprawling harbour town in the East, while its back looks over lush green farmland that stretches out into the Western horizon. Noble families rarely choose ancestral homes without meaning, and the one that the Futakuchi’s are trying to put forth is not subtle in the least.

 

Going forward, into the future, with the people’s power to back them up.

 

It’s a rather powerful statement to make, but it’s one that they have pulled through till this day.

 

Suga pulls his hood down, facing the guard with an expression that sits so unnaturally on his face that, for a moment, Tooru’s heart stutters in his chest and ice washes over his body.

 

“I am Sugawara Kouichi, head of the Royal Guards. My men and I are here on official business.” Suga’s voice is deeper, and a type of stern that only Kouichi ever is. Whether consciously or not, Suga has always yearned to be more like his brothers; if only to bring more honour to his family. Tooru doesn’t know what his beloved friend will think when he realizes what the brothers he’s always looked up to have done – and he doesn’t want to think what Suga will think of _him_ , either, once he finds out what happened on that fateful night.

 

Suga pulls out his family seal – always on his body, thankfully enough – and meets the guard in the eye. “I report directly to the King, and I do not answer to anyone but the King, so that is all I can tell you.” The grey-haired boy blinks, then returns the seal to its little pocket. “If you refuse to allow us entry, do understand that you are refusing a Royal decree and committing treason.”

 

“It seems treasonous bastards have been rewarded greatly in the past few months, haven’t they?” An unfamiliar voice calls, pulling their gazes up to the top of the Futakuchi estate’s outer walls. It belongs to an equally as unfamiliar boy who is sitting atop jade tiles; all grace and balance like the cats Tooru sees in the Imperial Palace. His hair is long enough to frame his face, and he’s dressed in green silk.

 

The guard bows lowly when he sees the boy. “Young master.”

 

One of Tooru’s eyebrows cocks in interest. The boy must be the Futakuchi family’s only son and heir, then. Casting another look at the new arrival, Tooru takes note of the chocolate shade of his hair, so similar to Tooru’s own, as well as his intelligent, slanted green eyes. From the looks of the baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, Tooru guesses that the Futakuchi boy might be a few years younger than him, still.

 

The boy scans them from head to toe – narrowed gaze a kind of analytic that Tooru would not expect from someone of his age – before letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Well, _I’m_ not going to be held responsible if we get in trouble with the crown. Let them in, Aone.”

 

As the gates are pulled open and the guards stand aside to let them in, the prince can’t help but nibble nervously on his bottom lip. He’s never met his mother’s relatives before. The closest he’s ever been to them are stories he’s heard around the Imperial Palace, and not all of them had been flattering. Tooru knows better than to believe blindly in what are, at best, rumours, but he’s had nothing else to base his understanding on.

 

The interior of the large mansion is as grand as its exterior, although in a different way. While the tiles on the outer walls of the Futakuchi home are close to glimmering under the sun, its furnishings are all bamboo and rice paper; a classic sort of elegance that overdecoration could never achieve.

 

“Welcome, guests, to my humble home.” The Futakuchi boy greets them as he saunters into the drawing room. The tall doors to the side of the room were flung open at his entry – even on the first floor, the view that they have of the Futakuchi’s garden is an impressive one. The boy hops onto a cushioned chair and proceeds to lounge on his side; cheek resting on his palm. He gestures in invitation to the fruit lying on the table in front of him. “Help yourself.”

 

None of them do, but the boy doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he picks out one from the lot and bites into it; juice dribbling down his chin.

 

“Thought you’d be taller.” The Futakuchi boy remarks as he looks at Suga from head to toe and back again. His eyes shift to Daichi, who’s standing next to the grey-haired boy, and lifts an eyebrow. “Nice scar, old man.”

 

Cocking his head to the side as his eyes then land on Kuroo, the boy’s lips split into a challenging smirk. “I was wondering where the birds got to. They must all have nested in your hair.”

 

Tooru can almost hear Kuroo’s teeth grinding together.

 

“That is enough, Kenji!” A woman’s voice calls sternly. The boy’s mouth dips at the corners in response, but he doesn’t utter another word.

 

Tooru turns his head as the unfamiliar woman enters the drawing room. She’s dressed in fine green silks, and the silver ornaments sitting on the crown of her head compliment the dark of her hair. A man follows behind her, his hands linked behind his back. His hair is streaked with grey, but what colour there is left matches the brown of his eyes almost perfectly.

 

It’s not hard to tell that they are who Tooru has come to speak to – the Heads of the Futakuchi house, Futakuchi Arata and Kobayashi Mei.

  
Tooru’s uncle and aunt.

 

The couple walk into the room with a kind of grace that the Prince has not seen in a long time; backs ramrod straight, noses tilted in arrogance, and postures unbending with certainty. They are the _embodiment_ of upper-class elegance.

 

It’s an odd thought that strikes Tooru next. As a prince, he’d never experienced nobles the same way Iwaizumi, or even Suga would. The upper class is one of wolves; of the constant fight to come out on top, and the maintenance of a civil demeanor through it all. It’s a merciless world, and one that is even more unforgiving to the common masses.

 

The Futakuchi’s have come into the room expecting a squadron of guards – guards who report directly to the King, but who are still, with the exception of Sugawara Kouichi, simple men without a strong family backing. They must look like nothing in the Futakuchi family’s eyes.

 

It’s a new perspective that Tooru has been forced into, and a very interesting one indeed.

 

The Prince’s silent musings are stopped short when Arata pauses in his step. Wise eyes narrow as they survey Suga, and it’s only a moment before he opens his mouth. “You’re not Sugawara Kouichi.”

 

At the corner of his eye, Tooru sees Kuroo’s hand curling around the hilt of his scimitar. Daichi's muscles tighten under his skin, and Suga has stilled entirely.

 

“Sugawara Koushi.” Arata’s voice is so deep the words almost sound like a growl. The youngest Futakuchi looks between his father and the four cloaked figures with a confused frown marring his features. “I remember all three of the Sugawara boys very clearly, even if the last time I saw you was when you were children.”

 

There is a pause, where Suga swallows almost audibly, before he falls back on all his years of training and folds into a smooth bow. “Futakuchi-sama. I apologize deeply for attempting to deceive you, but it was the only way we could possibly arrange a meeting.”

 

“A meeting?” The Futakuchi family head echoes, arching one of his eyebrows in interest. He stands his ground, as any good businessman would, while his wife’s sharp emerald eyes survey their figures warily – much like her son had done earlier. “There is but one reason why you would desire such a thing… So, Sugawara-kun, where is my nephew?”

 

Maybe this was what made his mother such a good match for his father, Tooru thinks. The Futakuchi’s unapologetic shrewdness and the Oikawa’s ruthless ambition, joined together in a bid for the throne.

 

It must have been a massacre.

 

“I’m here, Uncle.” The Prince steps out from behind Daichi’s bear-like shadow, pulling his hood down as he seeks out the older Futakuchi’s weathered gaze. It almost gives Tooru an estimate of what he might look like when he’s old and grey – if he ever lives to such a ripe old age. “It’s nice to finally meet your acquaintance.”

 

The mix of emotions that flicker in the old man’s eyes is undecipherable at the speed with which he covers them up. His mouth opens slightly, as though he were about to say something, but he’s interrupted when Kenji jumps up from his perch.

 

Scowl twisting his youthful features, the Futakuchi heir turns to face his father. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

At any other time, Tooru might have felt annoyed himself at the boy. It is extremely rude of him to have cut into the conversation without a thought of what the consequences could be, after all. Not to mention how he could be endangering his parents’ lives, and his own, by turning his back to a group of strangers.

 

But the Prince can’t find it in him to feel even an ounce of exasperation – not when dull red in the form of a sun stares at him from the back of Futakuchi Kenji’s neck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let y'all know!
> 
> Oikawa: 18  
> Iwaizumi: 22  
> Sugawara: 19  
> Daichi: 28  
> Bokuto: 23  
> Akaashi: 21  
> Kuroo: 26  
> Futakuchi: 16  
> Ushijima: 20


	26. i // Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a little longer than usual ;)
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

“The news of the King’s death and your betrayal of the crown spread quickly. Many noble houses defected to the Ushijima’s side. Among the first were the Terushima family in the South, and the Shirabu family in the North.” Futakuchi Arata reports, wrinkles deepening around his mouth as he speaks. Suga twitches almost imperceptively at the mention of the house he had almost been married into. “It happened too fast for it to have been unplanned, your Highness. I… have my own suspicions.”

 

Tooru rolls a grape around in his mouth before biting down into it. Sweet juice bursts onto his tongue like a wave of decadent flavour; bringing him back to the night of his coming-of-age like it was just yesterday.

 

Something like rage bubbles in the pit of his stomach.

 

Explaining his situation to the Futakuchi family had been so uneventful that it was almost novel.

 

Tooru has been on the run for the better part of a year, now. Every day seemed to be a new adventure of sorts, punctuated with the urgency to accelerate the prophecy and return to take back his throne. He has been hunted by palace guards, attacked by a faction deadly assassins, struggled through forest and snow.

 

And yet, here they are – sitting on plush cushions in an opulent, well-furnished room, speaking civilly with the half of Tooru’s family that has been lost to him for most of his life, while feasting on a plentiful spread of grapes and tangerines.

 

It’s almost like a glimpse into the life of luxury that Tooru once took for granted.

 

He might previously have believed that such an opportunity would leave him happy and contented, but in truth, the entire situation puts the prince on edge. He can tell that he’s not the only one, either. Beside him, Kuroo is as stiff as a board; going so far as to refuse the branches of grapes Suga has attempted to thrust in his direction.

 

“We hope that Kenji can, somehow, be of use to you,” The Futakuchi Matriarch smiles pleasantly, without casting a look back at her sulking son. “Although I’m not sure what… _gifts_ he could possibly be in possession of. He’s never seemed to demonstrate any ability whatsoever.”

 

Tooru’s eyebrow arches in surprise. None of the other horsemen have any problems regarding the use of their power – or at least none that hadn’t already been solved by the time Tooru met them. Naturally, his gaze turns to Kenji with curiosity. The younger boy doesn’t seem to want anything of it, though, and huffs before leaving the room without a word.

 

Bewildered, the Prince watches Futakuchi slam the door behind him. He doesn’t remember ever acting out as much when he’d been at that age.

 

“Oh, don’t mind him, Prince Oikawa,” Mei sighs. She’s much younger than the greying husband sitting beside her, but the couple still acts with a kind of synchronicity that can only be the result of many years of marriage. “Kenji doesn’t interact well with people he’s just met. It isn’t any fault of yours. I will be sure to… correct his behavior, especially when dealing with someone of your stature.”

 

Kuroo chokes a little on a grape that he’s finally conceded to eating.

 

“No, it’s alright.” Pointedly ignoring the assassin’s slip, Tooru returns Mei’s pleasantry with a demure smile of his own. Suga might be the true puppet-master when dealing with upper-class society, but growing up in the Palace hadn’t left the Prince entirely inadequate. Standing from his seat, Tooru excuses himself in a bid to find the Futakuchi boy.

 

Now that the last Horseman has been found, the Prince must make it his priority to keep him. For the sake of the prophecy, and for the sake of the boy himself.

 

It has been proven, time and time again, that bad things happen should they dwaddle – especially when dealing with the Horsemen.

 

As Tooru wanders around the Futakuchi family’s extensive gardens, he wonders what the boy can do. The other Horsemen’s supernatural abilities have been nothing short of breathtaking, in every sense of the word, and entirely past his realm of imagination.

 

 _Death; of swift end_.

 

What could Futakuchi Kenji’s gift possibly be?

 

The Prince finds his last horseman staring stonily out towards the setting sun. Its dying light casts a golden glow on the plots of farmland that stretch out into the horizon.

 

“Go away.” Futakuchi huffs, casting a scathing look back before returning to his youthful brooding. “You can hang me for disrespect when you get back your throne.”

 

Tooru can’t help but laugh. It’s open and sincere and he can _feel_ the tension sliding off his back. “I honestly have no idea where your attitude came from, cousin. Your parents don’t seem to have a single humorous bone in their entire body.”

 

Futakuchi flinches a little at the title – and Tooru can understand perfectly. The boy pauses, eyes lingering on Tooru’s relaxed form, before he turns away again. “And I honestly thought you were too pretty to be the Prince. Too pretty to be a guard, too.”

 

“You think I’m pretty!” The Prince laughs again, and steps closer to the boy. It’s a good sign that Futakuchi hasn’t moved away from him.

 

When Tooru speaks again, his tone has gained a serious note. “I know we may just have met, Futakuchi-kun, but it’s not hard to see that you and your parents don’t see eye to eye.”

 

This time, Futakuchi remains silent. Tooru sighs, and moves even closer, to stand beside him. “My father and I never seemed to be able to get along, either. He was always too busy for me when I was a child; arranging wars and managing the people. When I grew older, I vowed to prove myself to him and began studying. It was anything and everything, really, as long as I thought it could help me gain his favour. After years and years of hard work, I became the most decorated tactician in the Empire. I stopped wars that had been brewing since even before my father became King, won us wars using far fewer men and losing far fewer lives than could have been. I thought it was enough, to finally gain the little bit of attention I had always been fighting for… but it wasn’t.”

 

It’s at this point in Tooru’s story that Futakuchi turns around in shock, eyes widened and mouth agape.

 

“Yes, I believe my reaction was much the same.” Tooru chuckles a little, then focuses his gaze on the horizon. “Even on the day of my coming-of-age, my father barely acknowledged me. Our relationship was strained from the start till the end, and I had no way of fixing it or reaching out to him before he was killed.”

 

The Prince can feel the tears stinging his eyes, but he’s too stubborn, too proud, to allow them to fall. It’s still hard for him to talk about his relationship with his father – he’s not even had this talk with either Suga and Iwaizumi, but he’s sure that they understand enough to know.

 

“What I want you to understand, Futakuchi-kun, is that our lives are ours and not our parents’,” Tooru says, turning back to smile gently at his newfound cousin. The latter’s eyebrows are knitted together in a frown. “At some point in time, you have to realize that you are wasting your life away by trying and failing to prove to your parents that you’re what they want you to be. You are not. No one is. And it’s perfectly alright.” The Prince reaches out, palm resting reassuringly on Futakuchi’s shoulder. “I will understand if you refuse to become one of my horsemen, because it is something that your parents have agreed to, not you. Trust me when I say that acquiring a reluctant ally is the last thing I want.”

 

Futakuchi seems to have lost his words, mouth opening and closing without any sound passing his lips. His eyes show a kind of conflict that even Tooru can’t possibly understand; at least not right then.

 

A series of loud chirping cuts through the quiet atmosphere; immediately drawing both brunettes’ attention away from their conversation.

 

Kenji sees something that Tooru doesn’t, and he rushes forward to kneel below one of the taller trees lining the Futakuchi’s immaculate gardens. Feeling a little bewildered, the Prince follows the younger boy and looks over his shoulder curiously.

 

Tooru’s gaze softens the moment he sees what Futakuchi has cradled in his hands. It’s a little sparrow, maybe a few days old, that must have fallen from its nest. The bird is lying so still that the Prince instantly knows that it’s a lost cause.

 

Looking up at Tooru when he feels a comforting hand on his shoulder, the Futakuchi scion purses his lips. After a moment of what seems like deliberation, Futakuchi looks away again; lying the dead sparrow back on the ground.

 

“You know, I thought you were lying. About destiny, and fate, and rightful Kings.” Futakuchi says, shrugging under Tooru’s grip. His hands move to cover the bird; fingertips brushing against speckled feathers. “When you talked about the horsemen, and abilities that defy logic, however… I knew you were telling the truth.”

 

The grass around Futakuchi’s hands begin to dry and wilt at a pace so fast it’s almost like seeing years of drought in seconds. When the boy exhales lightly, pulling his hands away, Tooru’s breath escapes his lungs entirely – because there, chirping brightly as it hops on the ground, is a sparrow that is more alive than dead.

 

“So, Prince Oikawa,” Futakuchi looks up, meeting Tooru’s shocked gaze with his own, expecting one. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. i // Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another relatively heavy chapter :)
> 
> Thank you for all your support!! It means the world to me. Enjoy <3

 

Tooru is speechless for a few moments, eyes wide as they look to the bird and back to Futakuchi. Crouching down to the boy’s level, the prince stretches out a hand to pull a piece of dried grass from the ground – only for it to turn to ash at the slightest touch.

 

“…How did you come to learn about this?” Tooru finally asks, throat dry. It’s an odd feeling for him, to be staring into a pair of eyes that hold even more terror than his own. All this time, his horsemen have been older and more experienced; all of whom have enough control over themselves not to be a danger to anyone around them.

 

Futakuchi, on the other hand, is the youngest amongst the horsemen. He’s scared and entirely unsure of his own power – a power that is even more potent than in Tooru’s wildest imaginations, and even more dangerous in the hands of someone so young.

 

Tooru suddenly feels like a parent, himself, and overwhelmingly so.

 

“M-My father. He was in a hunting accident when I was younger and… I don’t think he was ever meant to return.” Futakuchi runs a hand through his hair, eyebrows knitted in a frown. “It was just the two of us. Our guards, they were too far away. He was turning cold, and I- I panicked.”

 

The Prince rocks back on his heels, ignoring the dirt that smears the bottom of his robes. Futakuchi Kenji is just a boy. How can he expect someone like him to throw away his innocence, his life, to join a cause that might end in death and disaster? How can he expect that of _anyone_?

 

Has he really become so self-absorbed that he would throw away the lives of those closest to him for a seat of power that only his lineage has given him a right to?

 

“My Prince!”

 

Tooru stands at the sound of Suga’s voice. His attendant has just come round the corner, Daichi following behind him. Both of them look a little too flustered for it to simply have been an attempt at locating him, so the Prince strides forward quickly to meet them halfway.

 

“Your grace, there is… a problem.” The attendant’s voice dips as he talks, eyes darting to where Futakuchi is looking at them curiously. Daichi’s eyebrow arches when he spots the odd patch of dried grass below the nobleman’s feet. “After the Lord and Lady retired to their wing of the mansion, we spotted a few guards making their way up here. We… have confirmed that they have come in search for you, my Prince. Kuroo-san has gone in search of the Futakuchi’s, but we have to get you out of here.”

 

Tooru’s entire demeanor changes at the news; the soft, relaxed curves of his face hardening into a sharp frown. “Suga, Daichi, stay with Kenji. I’ll go to Kuroo.”

 

Daichi objects immediately. “Oikawa, you know I can’t let you do that. It’s not safe, especially when-”

 

“Would you leave Suga and Kenji defenceless?” Tooru challenges, already hurrying by his two friends. He turns back around when he hears Daichi utter a frustrated sound. Suga knows better than to argue, but his eyes are equally as pleading. “This is an _order_ , Daichi. Keep them safe and hidden.”

 

The prince leaves before either of them can say anything more; sprinting through the gardens to get into the large Futakuchi estate.

 

Now that the sun has set, the shadows seem darker, the house quieter, and himself more unsure. Running through the maze that is the Futakuchi mansion doesn’t help the odd bout of anxiety bubbling at the bottom of his stomach, either.

 

In the end, he doesn’t find the Futakuchi’s as much as he hears Kuroo swearing.

 

The Prince is panting as he skids to a stop, but his eyes adjust quickly in the darkness and his mouth flattens into a severe line as he surveys the occupants of the room. Drawing to his full height – still a little shorter than Kuroo, but quite sufficient to look over his shoulder – Tooru looks to the assassin’s drawn scimitar, and then to the couple frozen behind a large oaken desk. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

“I overheard them speaking,” Kuroo replies through gritted teeth. He’s been wound tightly the whole day, but now it just looks as though he’s a hair’s breadth away from snapping. “Oikawa, they were planning on _betraying_ you to Ushijima. _They_ were the ones who alerted the guards.”

 

The prince takes a moment to register what the assassin is saying, and he directs his gaze towards his aunt and uncle once he does.

 

Futakuchi Mei stands with her head held high, one hand curled around the back of her husband’s chair. Outwardly, she is every inch the calculating matriarch she was raised to be. It is only the subtle twitch of her lip and the white of her knuckles that give her anxiety away. Futakuchi Arata, on the other hand, holds an expression so devoid of emotion that he could very well be a statue. The prince wouldn’t expect anything less of him – his uncle still sits at the head of a very successful trading business, after all.

 

His aunt opens her mouth in a bid to talk, but Tooru cuts her off.

 

“I trust Kuroo more than I trust two people I’ve just met.” The prince says, stepping around the mentioned assassin to stand beside him. He’s not interested in any of her lies. Not anymore. “So save us all the time and tell me why you would decide to turn your back on me?”

 

Immediately, Mei’s face crumples into an expression of distaste. “Your father was a horrible King. Arata’s father died while in his service, and his sister passed while attempting to supply an heir to the throne. King Teiji never learnt to care for his subjects, nor desired to know of the suffering that plagued the land outside the tall walls of the Palace. And you… We had hopes for you, but you ended up just like your father.”

 

Tooru freezes at the condemning words the Futakuchi matriarch throws at him.

 

Obsessed with war, negligent of his subjects and entirely too focused on maintaining a grand, ostentatious lifestyle that they simply had no more funds for, Oikawa Teiji was far from the perfect King. Many people, like Futakuchi Mei, could even argue that he had been a terrible one – and Tooru would, no, _will_ understand. He might even agree.

 

Saying that Tooru is exactly like the person whose mistakes he’s trying to fix, however, is another thing altogether.

 

Now, there’s only one more thing the Prince has to confirm.

 

He inhales deeply, eyes fluttering close. “Were you a part of Ushijima’s coup for the throne?”

 

When Tooru opens his eyes and locks gazes with both his uncle and aunt, he realises that their silence means more than any verbal acknowledgement could. Beside him, Kuroo’s upper lip curls as he stares down the traitorous couple.

 

The Prince expects to feel the betrayal, he really does. He expects to feel the rush of shock hit the depths of his soul, and he expects to feel the icy embrace of disappointment cleave at his heart.

 

And Tooru does feel all of that.

 

Only, he doesn’t expect the odd hollowness that lies under it all – a curious sort of exhaustion that only Tooru knows the meaning of.

 

“Does Kenji know?” Tooru asks, so casually it seems like he’s only wondering out loud. “Of your treachery, of course. Just to clarify.”

 

Mei seems taken aback at the question, and her papery skin stretches taut when she frowns. “What? Kenji is a weak, useless boy. Why would we ever trust him with-”

 

The Prince can’t even bring himself to react when one of Kuroo’s knives finds its bullseye between Mei’s delicately groomed eyebrows. A spray of blood, so very bright and red, erupts from the wound as she falls to the ground in a lifeless heap.

 

Out of the three people in the room, it is only Arata who reacts; pushing his chair backwards as he stands in shock.

 

It’s the only emotion Tooru has pulled out of the Futakuchi House Head in the short time they’ve been acquainted, and pride bubbles at the bottom of the Prince’s belly at the thought.

 

Kuroo seems impressed as he walks forward to retrieve his knife. Turning around as he wipes the blood of the weapon, the assassin regards Tooru with a knowing smirk. “How’d you know?”

 

The Prince gazes at his wide-eyed uncle, and then turns his attention back to Kuroo. “The Futakuchi family is one that is heavily influenced by economic rationality and personal success. They threw that all away once, when backing my father, but it lost them much more than any riches they had gained. It’s predictable- natural, even, that they would turn their backs on the King that caused all their losses the moment they could. Isn’t that right, uncle?” When Arata doesn’t answer, Tooru shrugs and carries on. “I instructed Kuroo to execute the two of you once anything seemed amiss, and he would’ve done so even if I hadn’t gotten here before he had.”

 

Gaze snapping up to focus on the man he had always dreamed of meeting, Tooru smiles – sickly sweet and condescending. “Do you have any last words, _uncle_?”

 

Arata’s mouth flattens into a severe line; wrinkles betraying his old age. His hair might have faded into grey, but his eyes are still a brown that matches Tooru’s own perfectly.

 

“You look like her, and you act like her.” The Futakuchi Head finally speaks, voice weighed down with something Tooru can’t hope to identify. “You’re exactly like your mother.”

 

The words don’t make it easier for Tooru to order his uncle’s death, but it doesn’t make it harder, either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
